


luxurious loving, like egyptian cotton

by melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Fairytale-ish?, and also other significant changes so i guess it's not really like Pretty Woman at all, and also the guy is a royal, repost, river runs an escort service, slight missy/clara, sort of a twist on Pretty Woman where the woman is older than the guy, the doctor is a prince and the ponds are his parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme/pseuds/melodypond_thewomanwhomarriedme
Summary: She looks towards the invitation sitting on her vanity - the one that states’attendance is mandatory for all unwed maidens’- and pulls a face. Everyone knows the King and Queen - though well-loved and respected by everyone in the kingdom and far beyond that - had hit a wall in trying to find a consort for their only son and heir to the throne, John. Though the many princesses from faraway lands that have presented themselves were more than suitable for the role of the future King’s wife, rumours have circulated that John has insisted on ruling the kingdom without a woman by his side.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/River Song, The Doctor/River Song
Comments: 114
Kudos: 153





	1. if i'm ever gonna fall in love, i know it's gonna be you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so sorry for deleting the original one, but i decided to rework the first chapter because I wasn't really happy with what was posted. but i hope you guys will stick with me anyway!!!
> 
> Chapter title from It's You by Ali Gatie  
> Story title from Your Love by Little Mix

Melody Pond stares at herself in the mirror, huffing in annoyance as a few stray strands of hair fall from the elegant updo she had been working on for almost an hour. Giving up on trying to tame her hair - the only real identifying feature of hers - was impossible, especially for an event at the palace. 

She looks towards the invitation sitting on her vanity - the one that states ‘attendance is mandatory for all unwed maidens’ - and pulls a face. Everyone knows the King and Queen - though well-loved and respected by everyone in the kingdom and far beyond that - had hit a wall in trying to find a consort for their only son and heir to the throne, John. Though the many princesses from faraway lands that have presented themselves were more than suitable for the role of the future King’s wife, rumours have circulated that John has insisted on ruling the kingdom without a woman by his side. 

Privately, Melody rather thought that John might just not be that interested in women. Almost every time she sees him out talking to women dressed in fancy gowns, all decked out in elegant jewelry and clearly trying to flirt their way into a place at the palace, he seems completely oblivious to the situation. And when he finally catches on, his ears and cheeks turn an impressive colour of red and he does all he can to excuse himself from the conversation, almost stumbling over his own feet to get away, clearly feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Melody runs her fingers over her dress, making sure that the corset and the layers of skirts are proper enough to mask her identity. No one would expect the Madame of a prominent escort service to attend such an event - nor would anyone welcome her. Almost every woman in the land thought her a piranha, a whore, homewrecker - and these were only the words said to her face. Still, it doesn’t matter that the palace has declared it mandatory for every unwed woman to go to the godforsaken ball - none of them would ever want to be associated with her if they wanted to be the lucky lady who wins the Prince’s hand. 

Luckily for her, Missy had suggested a rather crafty way for her to slip into the castle without being hounded by the large hordes of women who claimed she’d stolen their husbands from them. Picking up the intricate golden mask, she places it carefully over her eyes and ties the string at the back of her head, underneath the updo. No one at the ball will be able to recognise her now - well, not unless they’ve had a very good look at what her eyes look like in the dark. 

“Missy,” Melody calls out for her friend, turning around and giving herself final checks in the mirror. “Don’t forget that Mr Saxon has specifically requested for yours and Clara’s services.”

Missy appears at the door, not a single hair out of place. Leaning her hand on the doorway and placing the other on her hip, she cocks an eyebrow at Melody, looking at her through the reflection in the mirror.

“Are you sure you’re not going to use those lovely tits of yours to charm the King into bed?” she asks, her Scottish lilt even more pronounced since she just got off from another appointment. “Afraid that pretty boy Ramone will get jealous, is it?”

Melody rolls her eyes, tucking her stray curls behind her ears. “Please. Pretty boy knows he’s only good in bed.”

“Really? Because Clara had to send him off five minutes ago when he asked for you,” Missy says, tilting her head towards Melody. 

“I told him not to come anymore unless he’s got an appointment.” Melody rolls her eyes. “Men.”

“He does know your real name,” Missy quips.

Melody turns around to face her friend for the first time, a look of exasperation on her face. “Only because your wife slipped up while he was in the room!”

Missy’s eyes flash as they always do when Clara is in the line of fire. “I’m not afraid to bring out the whips on you, Madame.”

Melody snorts at the empty threat that Missy has been making for years. “Don’t let Clara hear or she’ll get jealous.”

“Fine. If you’re not with pretty boy,” she drawls, drawing out the nickname with apparent disdain. “then why won’t you just seduce the King or Prince into your pocket? Quite frankly, we could use the upgrade.”

Melody shoots her a look. “We just moved into one of the wealthiest homes in the kingdom. There will be no upgrades for the foreseeable future,” she says firmly, as Missy pulls her face into an exaggerated pout. “The only reason we were able to get this far is because no one has reported us to the royals yet. It’s best for the business for them to remain oblivious of the debauchery happening right under their noses.”

“Besides,” Melody continues, picking up her satin gloves and slipping them on delicately, “as long as we have Mr Saxon on our client list, our pockets will be sufficiently lined.” She turns to Missy and gives her a stern look. “So keep him happy if you’re not satisfied with what we have now.”

Missy rolls her eyes. “So tetchy,” she mutters under her breath. Clearing her throat, she straightens up again and turns to leave. “Nardole has insisted on driving you to the palace. He’ll be accompanying you while Clara and I are entertaining Mr Saxon tonight.”

Nardole was the groundskeeper and the butler that was tied to the mansion that Melody had bought for their business. Though she wasn’t exactly sure where he would fit in the business, she could tell that the stocky, bald man was reluctant to leave the place he’d been assigned to. So although Missy had protested his presence, Melody let him carry on with his duties. Plus, it saved her time from having to find a housekeeper to tidy the massive home every few days. 

“Still traumatised from last week?” Melody asks, the corners of her mouth turning upwards a little into an amused smile. 

She catches the smirk on Missy’s face as they share a look before Missy walks out in her usual flamboyant manner. Melody laughs a little to herself as she reaches for the pair of golden heels, strapping them carefully onto her feet as she recalls Nardole’s horrified face when he found out what the new owners of the mansion were actually doing in the rooms. He’d heard screams of pain and went to investigate with a knife in his hand, only to stumble upon a scene involving Missy, Clara and Mr Saxon using whips, restraints and gags.

He’d been sworn to secrecy then - not that it took much. Underneath the kind face, Melody recognised loyalty and reliability. Evidently, she had earned sufficient amounts of his trust during their short stay here. 

Leaving her bedroom, she looks over the bannister of the staircase to the living room, where her workers are usually gathered. Now though, the space is empty, as nearly all the women working under Melody are single and therefore required to attend the ball as well. Melody had given them the day off to get ready and mask their faces adequately. 

Only Clara and Missy remain, the two women married to each other - Missy had been Melody’s right hand in opening their escort business, and Clara had been the first worker to join them. It had taken a significantly long time for them to warm up to each other, resulting in an exasperating game of cat and mouse before they finally had the sense to confess their feelings. 

“Nardole brought the car around. He’s outside,” Clara says, spotting Melody going down the staircase. Shaking her head sadly, she adds, “He still can’t look us in the eye.”

“Don’t expect that to change anytime soon,” Melody says, an amused smile lighting up her face. 

Clara eyes Melody appreciatively, her eyes roaming up and down her body. “You clean up nicely, Mels.”

“Nice enough for the royals?” she asks, turning around to let Clara see the full view. “Do you think the mask is too much?”

“Since you’ve instructed all the girls to wear masks, I don’t think you’ll stand out too much from the crowd,” Clara points out, before tilting her head and frowning as she examines the golden material of Melody’s mask, reaching out a curious hand to finger it delicately. “How did you manage to get these in such short notice? The details are amazing”

“You can get anything done with the right price,” Melody says vaguely, smiling mysteriously before blowing a stray curl out of her face and waving goodbye to her friends and turning to head for the door. “Missy, don’t burn the house down. Clara, make sure Missy doesn’t burn the house down.”

Missy gives a small, lazy salute while Clara nods seriously, shooting her wife a look. 

“Have fun!” Missy calls out to her cheekily as the heavy door shuts behind her. 

Nardole had been waiting outside the door for her, and she offers him a smile in greeting as he holds out his hand to help her down the steps to their car. 

“You look beautiful, ma’am.” Nardole says, though he respectfully keeps his eyes towards the front. “Did the invitation say that it’s a masked ball?” 

“Necessary precaution,” Melody explains, as they reach the bottom stair. Nardole lets go of her hand to open the car door for her. “I don’t want any of the women whose fathers or uncles frequent our services to recognise me and make a scene in front of the royals. It’s better for both of us if the palace doesn’t get involved with the business.”

Nardole nods in understanding as he helps her into the car and shuts the door, rounding the vehicle to take the driver’s seat. 

“In case I or any one of the girls do get recognised and need to make a quick getaway, could you be parked near the palace by any chance?” Melody asks, as Nardole slides into his seat and places his hands on the steering wheel.

“I can try, ma’am, but because there’ll be so many people around, I expect the guards won’t allow it.”

“Bribe them if you can,” Melody instructs, and Nardole nods again. “If there really isn’t any other way, then circle the area until the ball is over. Hopefully none of the other girls will need our help, but just in case something happens, we should be prepared.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Nardole nods in affirmation.

“Good,” Melody says, adjusting her dress in the slightly cramped space. “Now let’s get this hellish thing over and done with.” 

*

As always with these sort of fancy parties in the palace, the front lawn is all decked out in lovely flowers, their gardens weeded and washed. As they pull into the palace, Melody spies the royal guards welcoming other women into the ball and pairing them up with servants from the castle tasked with escorting them into the castle. 

Melody can’t help but notice that there is a slight change in the way the workers in the palace behave - she doesn’t frequent balls like these, but on the rare occasion that she does, they seem less uptight and serious - possibly due to the fact that the balls have always been a celebratory event. The only time Melody has ever seen the guards so straight-backed is when other royals are visiting their kingdom. 

It seems that the King and Queen are taking their son’s betrothal seriously - every one of their workers have been plucked and prodded to perfection, bowing at a perfect angle to their guests. It’s clear that the staff were told that this particular ball was to be treated unlike all their other balls held within the kingdom. 

Melody lifts her skirt as she starts climbing the steps to the palace, a guard immediately rushing over to help her up the stairs. The guard casts her a weird look, tilting his head in thought.

“If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am, you do look wonderful - but it isn’t a masquerade,” the guard says, frowning in confusion. “We’ve had over ten maidens come in masks already. Was there an error in the invitation card?”

Melody merely smiles at the guard. “The ball is meant for the Prince to find his betrothed, yes?” she asks, and the guard nods. They reach the top stair and he lets go of her hand, turning fully towards her as she leans in, placing her lips beside his ear and whispering, “Mystery is a wonderful aphrodisiac, don’t you think?”

She pulls away and smiles at the hazy look in the guard’s eyes, winking seductively at him and turning to enter the palace. 

The inside is just as polished as the outside, every surface gleaming and shining. There are candles laid out to direct the guests towards the ballroom, and Melody follows the lit path, ignoring the temptation to stray into one of the several dark hallways clearly only meant for staff.

Finally, she spots a large room, bright lights from the chandelier pouring into the corridor, and loud chatter erupting from the people inside. Wondering if she could maybe find one of her girls to talk to and keep her company for the entire thing, she picks up her pace towards the ballroom, but as she reaches the doorway, a woman dressed in a suit stops her.

“Name,” she says.

“I beg your pardon?” Melody answers.

The woman finally looks up at her, clearly examining her closely.

“Name,” she finally asks again. 

“River Song,” Melody lies easily, as she often does when asked the question. “What business do you want with my name?”

The woman again shoots her the same blank look, but something in her eyes tells Melody that she isn’t a woman to mess with.

“I’m meant to announce your arrival to the party,” the woman says curtly. “How would you like to be addressed?”

“Madame,” Melody answers. “Thank you.”

The woman only nods in response before turning towards the crowd below, wrapping her fingers around a large stick and hitting it twice on the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room and catching everyone’s attention. 

“Madame River Song,” the woman announces, no hint of a smile in place. 

Melody eyes the room with interest, scanning through the crowds of women in tasteless dresses and some clearly meant to entice the Prince, searching for her masked girls. She descends the stairs carefully, able to tell that although the chatter hadn’t stopped when the woman had announced her arrival, almost every eye in the room was on her. Unable to spot any of her employees, she heads straight for a waiter carrying a tray of half-filled glasses of red wine, taking one of them in her hand. 

Straying towards the curtains and intending to avoid talking to anyone for as long as she can, she hovers over a group of women chatting amongst themselves.

“It’s an open marriage,” a woman with an impressive hairdo pulled into a straight line on top of her head says. “As long as I have the means to keep her happy I’m allowed to do whatever I want with whom. She is too - but she doesn’t like men much.”

“Hear, hear,” says another woman in the group, taking a sip of her wine. Her dark skin shines against the bright yellow of her dress. Unruly black curls frame her face, something she had evidently tried and failed to tame with a matching yellow hairband. “Men are rubbish compared to women.”

“Why are you here then, Bill?” asks another woman, confusion lining her face.

“Got to come, haven’t I?” Bill says, looking very unhappy indeed. “The invitation says it’s mandatory. My auntie has no idea that I’ve got no interest in guys, so I’ve got to keep up pretense till I can move out. Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Well at least none of us is poor Harriet Jones,” says the third woman, nodding to another woman at the ball, talking to a guard. Melody thinks that she must be the oldest person she’s seen in the room. “Divorced twice, caught her last husband with a prostitute from that escort service - what’s the name?”

“Cloak and Dagger,” replies the first woman. The other two women turn to her, a puzzled and surprised look on both their faces. She shrugs, sipping her glass of wine. “I’m not opposed to a service when I need one.”

Melody smiles into her wine as she turns away, the lights finally dimming very slightly as the chatter fades. Everyone is looking towards the entrance, where the Prince, King and Queen stand, looking as regal as ever. The Prince has a very contrite look on his face, as if he isn’t entirely sure if he wants to do this. The King and Queen smile welcomingly at the attendees of the ball.

“Prince Johnathon,” the announcer says clearly. “Queen Amelia and King Rory Williams.”

They descend the stairs as gracefully as they can. Prince John had evidently been groomed and practiced for the occasion - he wasn’t exactly known for his elegance. His parents trail behind him, and though every facet of their appearance maintains calm and composure, Melody can’t help but read the anxiousness in their faces - they must be quite worried that their son would reject the women here. 

The ball continues as the Prince circles the area, shaking hands with all the women in the ball. Melody hangs at the back of the crowd purposefully, keeping her eyes peeled for her employees in the masks, who all seem to be having a wonderful time despite the circumstances. As the music starts and the Prince has to pick his partner for the first dance, Melody’s eyebrows rise high on her forehead as she watches as his arm extends towards a woman in a bright blue mask, her blonde hair tied into a pretty knot at the back of her head. 

Recognising Rose instantly, Melody lets an amused smile cover her face as she imagines what would happen if the Prince chose one of her girls as his consort. She trusted her employees enough not to let their mouth run loose in any situation - though if they were to become a member of the royal family, the situation would be tricky. Not to mention the scandal it would cause if word got out that the future Queen used to accept money for sex. 

She turns away from the dance, placing her empty glass on a nearby table. She walks about the party, recognising a few familiar faces here and there, smiling at another group of girls in masks. She heads for the platter of mini-sized snacks available and sneaks a few of them up her gloves before walking straight towards the balcony, taking advantage of the fact that everyone seemed to either be watching the dance or starting to dance themselves.

She shuts the door quietly behind her and inhales deeply - this was always the best part of attending any of the royals’ parties. Their ballroom led to balconies that overlooked the entire kingdom, the view especially stunning at night, against a backdrop of the ocean and the twinkling lamps of the streetlights illuminating the picture.

Melody takes off her glove full of snacks and pops a custard puff in her mouth, smiling appreciatively at the sight around her and closing her eyes against the cold wind breezing gently across her skin. As a child, she used to fantasize about becoming a royal one day, when her mother took her to parties like this and showed her the view - she would imagine standing up here, looking at her kingdom, working on ways to improve their conditions. She would imagine being able to look at the magical view in front of her any time she chose - or even fall asleep while watching the quiet streets below her at night.

She hears the door shutting behind her and she turns around, eyes wide as she hurriedly puts her glove back on her hand. The intruder is standing with his back against the door, his eyes closed and sighing in relief, apparently not noticing that he has company here. 

“Escaping your potential consorts?” Melody asks, her voice laced in amusement.

The Prince’s eyes widen comically when he hears her, his ears turning red instantly.

“Uh - no, no, of course not-” he bumbles, making the grin on Melody’s face widen as she watches. He spies her laughing at him and deflates before glaring at her. “No one is supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” 

“I- I don’t know, palace rules!” the Prince says, clearly annoyed. 

“Well, you’re here,” Melody says, before curtseying slightly. “Your Majesty. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The Prince huffs. “Rude.”

“So, why are you here?” Melody asks, taking her glove out again and offering the Prince a chocolate eclair. He takes it with wariness, watching her bite into a cream puff.

“Parents,” he says, still eyeing the eclair. “Trying to introduce me to Harriet Jones.”

“They don’t think she’s a bit old for you?”

“I don’t think they care anymore,” he says bitterly. “Just desperate to marry me off so I can become King.” He frowns and turns to her. “Hang on, why are you here?”

“Well I’m sorry, sweetie, but the party’s dreadfully boring.” she deadpans. The Prince huffs indignantly, finally popping the eclair into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. Melody smiles in amusement and turns to the night view. “And the sight here’s unbeatable, really.”

“It is, isn’t it?” the Prince says, just a little pride in his voice. 

They remain silent for a moment, just appreciating the scenery in front of them before the Prince turns to examine her, one satin glove on and her golden mask slightly askew from the wind.

“I don’t think I shook your hand in the ballroom,” he says.

“You’ve shaken a lot of hands in there,” she replies, still not looking at him. “I’m sure you just don’t remember.”

“Forgive me, but I would definitely remember if I’d shaken hands with you,” he says, and his voice has changed suddenly - quiet and sincere, and Melody turns to look at him in surprise. 

She’d never thought of the Prince as a good-looking man before - mostly because she rarely ever thought of him. But he is much better-looking up close - his wise eyes twinkling as he smiles charmingly, his face oddly angled but still attractive, his floppy brown hair combed back but his fringe flopping down in front of his face, slightly covering his eyes.

Realising that she’d taken too long to answer, she clears her throat and looks forward again, ignoring the smirk on his face. 

“Odd, I’d never taken you for a flirter,” she quips, leaning against the wooden bannister. 

“I’m an excellent flirter, thank you,” the Prince replies, sounding offended. 

Melody raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Then how come you’re in here hiding instead of flirting away with a ballroom full of ladies who clearly want to get in your pants?”

He splutters for a bit, making her laugh out loud. She cleans the inside of her glove, swiping the crumbs over the balcony as he looks at her with a red face. 

“Are you saying that you don’t want to get into my pants?” he quips back, looking very proud that he’d managed to come up with that.

Melody pauses cleaning her glove, looks at him and tilts her head, as though considering. 

“Perhaps in a few years, sweetie,” she says. “Once you’ve got your kit off with someone else in the room. You couldn’t handle me now.”

The Prince’s blush deepens even further, his ears burning particularly red as Melody smirks at him. Her amusement only heightens when he tries to stutter out a reply.

“Your Highness? Are you out here?” a voice calls out, and in a flash, the Prince grasps Melody’s wrist and pulls her behind the door, pressing her against it. 

He presses a finger against her lips and she flushes at the feel of his body against hers, oddly muscled under those ridiculous garments he’s wearing. He’s still blushing from her remark, but he stares intently in her eyes, his gaze flicking downwards to rest at her lips. 

“Prince John?” the same voice calls out, and she can feel him actually hold his breath, but the intruder doesn’t enter any further. As the door closes, they hear the voice telling someone, “He’s not here. Look someplace else.”

He heaves a sigh of relief and she presses her back against the wall, still feeling hot at the way he presses against her - but the Prince doesn’t seem to feel a thing as he steps back and smiles at her. 

There’s a moment’s pause where Melody can’t seem to find any words to fill the silence, before he says, “Oi! I’ve been - naked - with other people.”

“Oh, we’re continuing this again, are we?” she shoots back easily, and suddenly it feels like that suffocating tension hadn’t even been there before. He just raises his eyebrows at her. “I meant got your kit off with someone other than your parents, Your Majesty,” Pausing a little in thought, she adds, “Or your nanny, or the butler, or whoever else you have serving your privileged pants.”

“I was not going to say that,” he mumbles, and Melody raises her eyebrow. 

“Oh?” she asks, laughing in delight. “Has the Prince been utterly naughty without Mummy and Daddy knowing?”

“You are impossible,” the Prince huffs indignantly, folding his arms across his chest and looking rather like an adorably cross toddler who’s been denied candy. “Someone ought to teach you a lesson.”

Melody raises her eyebrow even higher at the innuendo that the Prince himself hadn’t seem to have caught himself making. She leans in closer to him, her loose curls now blowing lightly around her face by the gentle wind, and looks down at his rather kissable lips before flicking her gaze back up to his eyes.

“You’re more than welcome to try, sweetie.” she says lowly, making the Prince swallow.

Though the endearment had slipped through her lips rather without her approval, Melody can’t seem to be quite bothered by the fact that she rarely ever called anyone pet names unless they asked for it - and the Prince certainly hadn’t. She is entirely too distracted by the way the Prince’s eyes seem to darken - or was that a mere trick of the light? - and his gaze lingered far too long on her lips. 

He was rather odd, thought Melody. He seemed to switch randomly from being a shy, bumbling wreck, stuttering at innuendos and blushing horribly at suggestive words to being a rather apt flirter himself. She found that it was rather charming that he was trying so hard. 

“Oh, but you would like that too much, wouldn’t you?” he asked her softly, his voice dark and low. It makes a hot fire burn low in her belly and she knows that she just has to have him. He seems to share the same idea, because he licks his lips and holds his hand out to her. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

“We are somewhere quiet,” she points out, as he leads her on the narrow edge of the balcony, ducking below the big windows so that no one can see them sneaking out. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere amazing,” he assures her, grinning so widely she can’t help but return the smile. “You’ll love it, I promise.” 

She follows him silently as he tugs on her wrist, pulling her through several doors and giggling as they dodge past security. There are clearly people looking for him, concerned of where the Prince has gone but he doesn’t pay them any mind, clearly taking pleasure in ditching the events and spending time with her - for whatever reason. 

They almost get caught multiple times, but he looks so gleeful while sidestepping all his staff that she can’t find it in her heart to stop. She’s almost sure he’s taking the long way just so he can hide away from more of the guards looking for him. 

They climb staircases and hide behind multiple statues and fountains - once, he’d pulled her into a dark closet and shushed her as two guards passed by, calling out his name. She’d felt that familiar flush again - this time noticing how the Prince smelled oddly sweet, like a dessert. 

Finally, they come to a stop at what looks like the topmost landing of the Palace, and Melody is fairly sure visitors aren’t allowed at this part of the building, but the Prince is insistent as he looks around to make sure no one else can see them before plucking an umbrella out of the corner and poking it at the ceiling. 

For a second, nothing happens. Melody watches expectantly, and she’s just about to make a smart remark when a trapdoor springs open, revealing a flight of stairs.

The Prince smirks at her like he’d known what she was about to do, and she resists the urge roll her eyes. 

“Such a show off,” she mutters, as he presents the stairs to her and holds his hand out again. 

“Only for a beautiful woman such as yourself,” he says, and she really rolls her eyes this time, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the stairs. “Ladies first.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Hoping to peek?”

“What?” he asks, and when he realises what she means, he blushes adorably again. She grins, smug. “Oh, you’re naughty, aren’t you?”

But he sounds delighted at the fact, and she lets out a throaty laugh as she walks past him to grip the unsteady railings of the stairs. 

“Luckily for you, sweetie, I don’t mind letting you look,” she drawls, smirking at him as he flushes even redder. 

She pulls her skirts up and starts to climb, looking ahead and wondering where it leads. She can only see the night sky, and her heart rate triples as she starts to feel the wind whipping around her even stronger than before. As she clambers up the stairs, her breath is taken away by the scenic sight in front of her. Lights upon lights upon lights - as far as the eye can see. It is beautiful and breathtaking and - oh God she’d never thought she would ever see anything as stunning as this. 

She turns to look at the Prince but he’s looking directly at her, the edges of his mouth turned up slightly. 

“You like it?” he asks, almost as if he’s looking for her approval. 

“Yes,” she breathes, turning back to look at the enchanting plethora of lights. There is nothing quite as beautiful as the light and the dark, complementing each other perfectly. “It’s amazing.”

They turn back to the view, taking it all in, soft breaths and strong breeze the only sound around them. She stares until the lights blind her, until she has memorised the way they shine like diamonds against the velvet black night, until all she can see them every twinkling light even when she closes her eyes.

She tears herself away from the scene to look at the Prince, who is still smiling at the sight in front of him. 

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks quietly. 

He takes a moment to answer, his smile softening as he glances at her momentarily before turning back to the view. 

“You’re the only one who caught my eye tonight,” he says, his voice as soft as his smile, as gentle as his gaze. “I dreaded tonight for ages - begged my parents not to throw it, did everything I could to stop it from happening. But it might not have been such a bad idea.” 

“Your Majesty,” she says, partly to remind herself who exactly she’s talking to, but mostly to remind him that he’s the goddamn Prince. 

“I mean, the jammie dodgers were delicious - saved the entire evening, really,” he says, not turning to look at her as she rolls her eyes and lets out a quiet snort. 

“I preferred the custards,” she says. 

“Clearly. You stole half the batch,” he teases.

She gasps, offended, and hits his shoulder hard. “I did not! I only filled one glove!” 

“Are you sure it’s not bigger on the inside?” he teases again, and she laughs this time, shaking her head. 

“I hate you,” she says. 

“No you don’t,” he answers immediately, and she doesn’t know why, but it makes her tingle a little. 

She stays silent, not sure what to say to that, but he takes the lead. He reaches for her hand and places a small, gentle kiss on the back of her glove, and she longs to feel his lips against her skin - are they as soft as they look?

“I don’t bring just anyone here,” he tells her softly.

“I must be one lucky girl, then.”

His eyes lift to hers and he shakes his head as she holds her breath in anticipation, wondering what he’s going to do next. 

“I’m the lucky one, meeting you.” he says softly, and she feels her insides just melt embarrassingly quickly - what in the world is this man doing to her? She’s never been this smitten with anyone so quickly before. “I don’t - I’m not sure why, but I feel this - this palpable want for you.”

A wave of arousal hits Melody unexpectedly in the pit of her stomach, brewing faster and faster as he leans in further and further into her. Her eyes remain on his lips, wondering tentatively how it would feel to kiss him - how soft and supple it would feel, if he would taste like the eclair she’d given him, if he even knew how to kiss.

“I’ve got a rather strong feeling about you,” he whispers, moving even closer towards her. Her eyes heavily lidded now and fully anticipating a wonderful snog from the Prince of the kingdom, Melody’s mind is a haze of emotions and excitement, not able to really hear what he’s saying. “You are - God, so completely enchanting.”

The tension snaps like a tightly wound string and both of them surge forward at the same time, their lips meeting in a clashing of mouths. His nose bumps against her mask rather painfully but the sting is nothing compared to the completely unbelievable feeling of tasting each other, welcoming her tongue into his mouth. 

And she’s kissing the Prince. She never thought that this was where tonight was heading but once she met him - how could it not? How could she ever resist him, this man who’s done nothing but been charming and flirty and honest; this man who hasn’t even seen her face or her body but still remains attracted to her?

So she kisses him back. He grabs her waist and pulls her closer to him, allowing her to rest her hands on his chest, rising up slightly to cup his neck. He is a surprisingly good kisser - Melody can’t remember the last time she enjoyed a kiss as much as this. Her heart tugs at her chest, warning her that this absolutely must stop before someone sees them - she can’t be caught kissing the Prince, not when everyone would want to know the face of the woman he’s chosen this evening. He’ll be made a fool - and the citizens of the kingdom would never allow the Prince to go along with the lines of men that had been seduced by someone from the Cloak and Dagger.

“Your Majesty -” Melody says, pulling away from the kiss to speak, but John leans in again, as if drawn to her, and presses three more open-mouthed kisses to her lips.

“John,” he manages to say in between kisses, “please call me John.”

“John,” she whispers hoarsely, still reciprocating his kisses even though she knows she must stop - she could never resist wanting what she couldn’t have. “We have to stop.”

“No, we don’t,” he says softly against her lips, kissing her much more gently, his mouth moving over hers, soft and smoothly in rough contrast to their excited, hot and passionate kisses before. “I choose you - I - I don’t know your name, but I choose you.”

Melody presses one last, long kiss to his lips and leans back, pressing her hand against his chest to keep him at a distance. Looking up into his eyes, she smiles warmly at him, his kind hazel eyes looking back at her with such desire and want. 

“I’m Melody,” she whispers, and though she knows that it might be a mistake in the future for her to give the Prince her real name she can’t give him the one she uses for work - not when this has come to mean so much more than just fun. Not after he brought her here, not after everything he’s said to her. 

“Melody,” he repeats, smiling brighter. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

He leans in again for another kiss, his hands now travelling up from her waist to her back, pulling her even closer until they’re chest to chest.

“But not the woman for you,” she says softly, looking up at his eyes. She lets her words sink in, watching as confusion turns to sadness. “I’m sorry, John - but you wouldn’t want me as your Queen.”

“I do -” 

“You don’t know me,” she whispers gently, shaking her head. “Even if you would accept me, your parents and your kingdom - they would never want me as their Queen.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes travelling over her face. “Who are you?”

Melody lets a sad smile slip over her lips. “I’m just the woman you kissed.”

“You’re the woman I choose,” he says softly, as if making one last bid to convince her to stay.

“You deserve better than me, Your Majesty,” she says to him softly, reaching her hand up to stroke his cheek softly, feeling the angles of his face. She has no idea how she could’ve ever let this happen, but now suddenly, she’s overcome by a strong feeling in her gut, something pulling her towards him, begging her to say yes and decide to hell with the consequences. “I am very sorry.”

“So am I, Melody,” he whispers. 

She leans in and presses one small kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back, a wave of sadness washing over her. For the first time, she’d actually felt so content and free with someone - she loved her job and she loved every single one of her girls, but John had made her smile in a way no one has been able to. She knows then, that it had been the right decision to stop before going too far - if they’d headed where she’d wanted it so desperately to, she doubts she would’ve been strong enough to turn him away. 

“If I went out one day,” he says, letting go of her and pulling away, but taking her hands from his neck to hold onto tightly. “If I found you out there, will you allow me the privilege of getting to know you better?”

Melody chuckles lightly, her heart warming at the thought of him coming out to find her. Reality drops a bucket of ice cold water over her head when she thinks about how much less desirable she’d be to him once he found out that she’s actually the head of an escort company that has been lending its service illegally in his kingdom. 

“If you manage to find me,” she says, her smile lingering on her lips. He looks down at her, still holding her hands as she walks backwards towards the door, his quiff falling over his eyes again. “You’re more than welcome to learn everything you must.”

He smiles brighter at that, pressing a kiss to her hands for longer than necessary before letting go. 

“See you again, Melody,” he says, bowing to her. 

“‘Till next time, Your Majesty,” she replies, giving him a proper curtsy.

She gives him one last smile before turning around. She doesn’t look back.


	2. my thoughts will echo your name until i see you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A haze of longing and sadness has descended upon Melody ever since returning from the ball, and both Missy and Clara have tried everything they could to pry the cause of their friend’s grief from her, but to no avail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I just want to say that I support the black lives matter movement and if you guys don't have the money to donate, you guys can click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM) to stream videos that will have proceeds go directly to funds that support the cause. Don't forget to watch through all the ads so that more money will be donated! 
> 
> chapter title from Enchanted by Taylor Swift

A haze of longing and sadness has descended upon Melody ever since returning from the ball, and both Missy and Clara have tried everything they could to pry the cause of their friend’s grief from her, but to no avail. Though Melody continues to run the back scene of their business, she has not actually accepted any client in her chambers for almost a week. It has been a source of worry among her employees, especially those who have stayed for long - Melody is known to accept clients almost daily, and only takes breaks when she’s ill. 

Melody starts each morning with a small ounce of trepidation in her heart. She knows that sooner or later, the Palace will be announcing the lucky maiden that the Prince has chosen to be his bride, and she’d done everything to make sure it wouldn’t be her.

She knows it’s extremely foolish to feel this way - she had spent barely an hour with the Prince; she hardly knows him - and yet some part of her, a part of her that she hadn’t even thought existed, wanted nothing more than to spend time with John.

Men had always been a means to an end for her - a way to put food on her plate; a way to satisfy some carnal urges - she had never been  _ truly  _ interested in any one of them. She had always taken advantage of her beauty and sexuality to try and entice men - and women sometimes, too - but once their cravings were fulfilled and they’d successfully reached the throes of ecstasy within her bed, they had never expressed interest in getting to know her better. Maybe once every few times, but she hadn’t had any interest in getting to know them better, either. A pure business transaction.

But John - he’d  _ cared _ . He wanted to know more about her - that feeling in and of itself, as a woman who men often saw only for her body, was indescribable. Though he hadn’t seen her face, she had genuinely been herself around him, rather than playing up the sexy mysterious woman she’d often played for her clients and other potential suitors. That made John one of the few people to ever know how she truly behaves when she isn’t playing the character she’d made for her job. 

And Melody just couldn’t help but replay the way he had kissed her in her mind every night; the way his lips felt gentle yet passionate against hers, as if asking for permission while wanting her to know how much he wants her. It had been a while since anyone has treated her with that level of care. Often, when it comes to her job, clients wouldn’t hesitate to take what they paid for - and Melody never minded since she knew it came with the territory. She had never even known how much she craved for someone to hold her face tenderly in their hands as they kissed her until John had given it to her. 

Missy rudely barges into Melody’s bedroom without knocking, a fresh coat of her trademark red lipstick painted on her lips and an eyebrow cocked in her friend’s direction. She settles herself next to Melody without her permission, looking down at the other woman with an expression that Melody can’t quite place. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you look a little worried,” Melody mutters, pushing her blonde ringlets out of her eyes so that she can glare better at her friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Luckily, you  _ don’t  _ know better,” Missy replies smartly.  “I’m here because Clara’s the one that’s worried. God knows why, I told her you get moody if you don’t have sex for more than three nights - alas, she doesn’t believe me.”

Melody only barely manages not to roll her eyes. “Get out, then.”

Missy clicks her tongue. “Still tetchy, I see.” She makes herself even more comfortable on the bed, lying down next to her friend, fully dressed, and looking straight up at the ceiling. “Unless you can stand to look me in the eye and tell me what’s been going wrong in that pretty little head of yours, I’m not moving an inch from this bed.”

“You can rot for all I care,” Melody retorts, turning her back to Missy and facing the other side. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Missy pokes at Melody’s side with a long, manicured fingernail, making Melody yelp in surprise and pain as she turns to glare at her. 

“You’ve known me almost a decade and you still think you’re able to ignore me when I’m being annoying,” Missy tuts, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “You’ve not learned, I see.”

Melody doesn’t answer - she’s just realised that Missy has something she never thought she wanted with Clara. If only Missy could stop annoying her for more than a nanosecond, Melody could find a way to put into words the question that’s been weighing on her chest. 

“Why did you stay?” Melody asks, the words tripping over her tongue before she can stop them. Missy turns to her with her eyebrow even higher on her forehead, and Melody knows she can’t back out now that she’s said something. “Here. In the business. After - after you found Clara.”

Missy considers her for a moment, her piercing eyes unnerving Melody - conversations like this have been few and far between in all their years of friendship. Their camaraderie had been built on their mutual trust, a desire for more in their lives than what was offered to them as women and a willingness to fight for what was theirs - to protect it with their lives. They had never needed to put into words how important they were to each other - they had never been that sort of friends, for whatever reason. 

“Well, we needed money - and lots of it,” Missy says. Melody snorts. But her eyes turn serious and she looks at Melody with a stern glance. “We never thought about leaving - not for a moment. We love our jobs and each other. That’s enough, somehow."

Under the covers, Missy pinches Melody’s arm in jest and Melody retaliates with a kick. 

“Besides, leaving the business would mean leaving you,” Missy says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, a soft fondness to her tone that Melody rarely ever hears except for when she’s talking to her wife. As if sensing the change in her voice herself, she quickly covers it up with, “And no matter how much I beg Clara, she seems fond of putting up with you.”

“I’m touched,” Melody deadpans.

"You should be," Missy says seriously, straightening her skirt as she adjusts herself more comfortably on the bed. Melody watches her silently, aware that she's only looking for something to do with her hands because she's getting emotional. When both women's eyes meet again, Missy smiles almost imperceptibly - the only genuine smile she has. "Now hurry up and tell me what's bothering you or I'll bring out the paddles."

"It's nothing," Melody sighs. She sits up on the bed and looks out the window, the sun high above the sky and realises that she's been in bed until noon. "I should forget about it."

"You sound like you're talking about an ex," Missy says, plucking at the threads of the luxurious quilt Melody had picked out herself. Her brow furrows in thought before she looks up at her friend, watching the back of Melody's head carefully. "You never did tell us what happened at the ball."

Despite herself, Melody tenses up immediately. She catches herself before she can give anything away, but she finds that she can't bring herself to put a strained smile on her face, so she remains with her back to Missy as she answers. 

"Nothing happened," she shrugs. "Boring as ever, you would've loved causing chaos there."

"I love causing chaos everywhere," Missy replies, still watching her friend's back carefully. "Don't try to distract me, dearie, I'm not letting this go until you tell me what's wrong so we can fix it for you."

Melody looks over her shoulder to glare at Missy. Pursing her lips and making a quick decision, she turns around and hopes that she won't regret asking her friend.

"What would happen if I left Dagger?" she asks tentatively. 

Missy cocks her head at her. "Since when were you thinking of leaving?"

"I'm not. It just - it occurred to me that - if something were to - to  _ happen _ , and I had to leave - "

"Something like what?" Missy interrupts. 

"I don't know - just  _ something _ ," Melody almost snaps in response, before taking a deep breath. "Not everyone can have an agreement like you and Clara do; not everyone is as committed to each other as you are - "

"Are you suggesting," Missy says slowly, as if putting puzzle pieces together in her mind, "that you would leave Dagger if you were to find someone, as Clara and I found each other?"

"I'm  _ asking  _ what would happen if I did," Melody corrects. 

Missy stays silent for a moment, pondering the thought. Melody looks at her friend somberly, her eyes serious. Before this, she'd never thought about what would happen if she were to leave the business they'd built together in over a decade. They had never imagined doing this without each other - not even after Missy had gotten married. 

But surely, if Melody were to find someone, her circumstances would be vastly different. She is sure that once she found whoever it was that was right for her, whether or not it might be Prince John, that that person would not be as open to the idea of her continuing in her line of work - and to be honest, she doesn't really know if she'd want to, after finding someone worth staying faithful to. 

"Melody," Missy says softly, and it's unlike anything Melody has ever heard before. It's a soft, gentle tone that she's never heard her use; a tone that encompasses so much emotion and vulnerability - two things that Missy is very decidedly _not._ "Don't think about anyone else. Do what makes you happy, that's what I would do." 

Melody feels a smile stretching her lips as she looks back at her friend, before she sighs softly and lays back down on the bed beside Missy. 

"Do what makes me happy," she repeats. 

*

"I don't want to get married," John says stubbornly. 

"Listen, mate - if I don't get this done by tomorrow I'm fairly certain that the Queen is going to execute me, so you've  _ got  _ to pull it together or my blood is on your puny hands." comes the voice of his advisor and best friend, Craig Owens. "Will you just  _ choose _ -"

"I've already chosen."

"And we have talked about this a hundred million times," Craig begins, exasperation seeping into every facet of his features. "If you can't  _ find  _ her -"

"I could, if all of you would just let me out!" John almost shouts in frustration. "I finally found someone who doesn't make me want to stab myself in the chest and none of you will let me look for her!"

"Because you don't know her!"

"I don't know any of these people either!" John shouts back, pointing to the stack of photos laid out on the table in a haphazard mess. "These are all just pictures of random women we know  _ nothing  _ about, all of whom are only interested in elevating their own status, and we're just willingly handing one of them the privilege of becoming Queen! Tell me that doesn't sound absolutely ridiculous." he demands. 

"You and I both know that this is how it works once you've alienated every other eligible maiden of status in the world," Craig says patiently, rubbing his temples and looking in dire need of a nap. "I'm not saying that it isn't completely bonkers, but it is what it is. And if you don't like it, build a bloody time machine and go back five hundred years or so."

"Maybe I will," John mutters stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair, looking like a cross toddler.

"Fine," Craig snaps. "Tell me how that goes, will you? And if you see the Queen roaming around, do inform her that I’ll be waiting patiently in my chambers for my execution notice."

He gives a very annoyed, half hearted bow in the general direction of the Prince before he turns around and storms off, slamming the door behind him. 

“Hmph,” John grumbles petulantly, glaring at the door in which his best friend had just disappeared through. 

Only moments later, a tall woman strides through the door with a stern look on her face - a look that John knows all too much, and a protest bubbles through his throat only for it to be silenced at once when she lifts an eyebrow at him. 

“Vastra,” he greets her. “If you’ve come to nag at me, you can save your breath.”

She says nothing as she approaches the large table he’s seated at, dragging one of the empty chairs backwards and settling herself on it with an amount of elegance that John has always marveled at. Her piercing green eyes study John with interest, looking over him like a specimen in a lab - something she often does that always makes John feel uncomfortable.

“Who is she?” She asks simply. 

John blinks. “What?”

“The woman you’ve chosen. Who is she?” Vastra repeats. “I was in charge of introducing everyone to the room. Perhaps I can recall her full name, which will make it much easier for you to find her.”

John’s eyes widen in excitement, his heart pumping as a broad smile steals across his face. A week has passed and not one of the officials, nor his parents, have given any interest in the mysterious maiden he’d been so enamoured with. 

“I thought we were supposed to forget about her?” John asks, trying not to get his hopes up just in case. 

Vastra shrugs. “Nothing else is working. You and your parents are both too stubborn, but they aren’t giving you a chance. I thought we’d at least try.”

John smiles at his Head of Security, and she lets her lips turn upwards at the corners for a brief moment. 

“Her name is Melody. That’s all I got,” he adds regretfully, thinking of the beautiful shade of blue-green eyes he’d seen behind the golden mask that night. “She was one of the women in the mask.”

“She was masked that night?” Vastra asks, frowning thoughtfully. “I didn’t introduce anyone with that name that night - she must’ve given a fake name for some reason. What colour was her mask?”

“Gold. Sparkly - like her eyes. Her hair was golden, too. Curly,” he says, almost lost in thought as the vision of Melody appears behind his eyelids. “She was in red - one of those really heavy dresses. And she had gloves on, too - used it to hide snacks in when she snuck into the balcony.”

Vastra almost looks amused at him. “She must’ve made quite an impression on you.”

Ears turning red when he realises that he’d given much more detail than what was asked of him, he clears his throat awkwardly and looks away from Vastra.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s brilliant.”

“I think I remember her,” Vastra says, and John’s eyes light up immediately. “But I’m going to need much more than that to actually find her. Did she tell you anything about herself?”

John shakes his head in disappointment. “No,” he says, looking down. “She wouldn’t allow me to know anything once I told her I’d chosen her - I think it was to stop me from finding her.”

“She’s clever,” Vastra sighs, frown deepening. “Well then, the only option is for you to go out there and search for her.”

John raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Do you think the King and Queen would allow that?”

“Of course not,” Vastra says briskly, her tone betraying the annoyance she feels at even the suggestion. “We’ll have to be careful, but you’ll have to promise to follow  _ everything  _ I say. I can’t have you killed on my watch, Prince John.”

“What do you mean?”

An excited smile spreads across Vastra’s face, an expression that John has never seen before. It makes him slightly nervous.

“I mean that we’re sneaking out at night, my Prince. So be prepared.”

*

“This is absolutely mental,” John mutters as he looks down at the ground, three stories up. He looks back at Vastra on the other side of the window, eyes wide. “You expect me to  _ jump? _ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Use the pipes to get to the second level,  _ then _ you can jump. I’ve asked the gardener to rake the leaves under the spot so you should be fine.” Vastra instructs, poking her head out of the window and looking straight down. 

“Remind me again why we can’t just use the bloody front door?” He asks irritably, as he steps carefully on the ledge to allow space for Vastra to climb out as well.

“Because the guards will report your comings and goings to your parents, and the entire point of this is for your parents  _ not _ to know,” Vastra says dryly. She climbs gracefully out of the window, unnerving John yet again with the ease with which she does the task. No trace of fear or anxiety on her face, she turns to him expectantly. “Go on, then.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at where he’s placing his feet. Slowly, he starts inching towards the pipes. “What exactly is your plan?”

“We’ll have to go on foot,” she informs him, watching patiently as he moves slowly. “We can’t take the Palace cars or someone will notice, and the horses are definitely out of the question - so we’re walking to the City Square, and we’ll go from there.”

“But we have nothing to go on,” he says, already feeling a little unsure of the plan. “We’ll wander around for ages.”

“Obviously, we’ve got to look at places that are considered disgraceful for women to work at - that would make the most sense, given she was so guarded about telling you anything about her,” she says matter-of-factly, as though it had been completely obvious. “We’ll probably start in the bars, or strip clubs - if we don’t find her there, we’ll have to go poking around with the patrons, maybe they’ll know someone - or perhaps they’ll lead us to a prostitution service, in which case, your girl - “

“A - a  _ what _ ?” John asks, almost letting go of the tight grip he has on the window sill. 

“A prostitution service,” Vastra says a little louder, clearly under the impression that he hadn’t heard her properly.

“I know what you said but - but that’s  _ illegal _ !” he exclaims. 

“Which would explain why she was so reluctant in sharing with you,” Vastra says. “Maybe she didn’t want to get her colleagues in trouble.”

“B-but - I - she - ” he stammers, mind racing with a thousand questions and possibilities.

“Don’t worry, John. We’ll only go for the service if we can’t find her at the first two places,” Vastra tries to reassure him, before gesturing that he should continue climbing down the pipe to the second level. He gingerly wraps his legs around the pipe and manoeuvres himself downward. “Besides, even if she  _ is _ a prostitute, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s the one you chose, does it?”

John pauses as he thinks about Melody, about how he’d felt when they’d kissed, how she’d looked at him as if she longed for nothing more than to stay. He’d wanted nothing more, either.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says quietly. 

“For God’s sake, who left this window open?” Comes an annoyed voice from the room they’d climbed out of. 

Vastra stomps on his hands hard, making him yelp as he lets go completely of the pipe. Before he knows it, he is plummeting towards the ground, hitting the ground with a soft  _ thud _ as his fall is cushioned by leaves.

He lifts his head, his face red and full of indignation, ready to shout at her. He finds her pressing a finger to her lips and points at one of the royal guards with his head out the window, looking around in confusion before closing the windows. He glares at her silently, his mouth full of leaves, as she carefully descends the pipe and jumps off when she reaches the second level, landing gracefully on her feet.

She holds her hand out to him to help him up.

“Thanks,” he says grudgingly, brushing leaves out of his hair. “Did you really have to step that hard on my hand? I think you broke one of my fingers.”

“If I wanted to break your fingers, I would have. But I did not,” she says unapologetically, plucking a few leaves that have stuck to his shirt. “Let’s go. I told the maid to open the window as soon as she wakes up.”

“You are scarily apt at sneaking out,” John says, as he follows her towards the hedges. 

She shrugs. “Part of my job.” she pulls something out of a rucksack that she’s carrying and hands it to him. “Put this on quickly.”

“What is this for?” he asks, turning the clay material over in his hands. It’s been painted black and has two large holes cut out, and an elastic has been attached to the ends of it. 

“Anonymity,” Vastra explains impatiently. “We can’t have any of the citizens seeing you around strip clubs in the middle of the night, can we?” 

“I feel ridiculous.” he says, pulling it over his head and marveling at how well it fits his nose and eyes. “How did you get this made in time?”

“I’ve got connections. Now will you stop with the questions?” she says, turning to him to pierce him with her stare. “We’ve got more important things going on around here.”

“Right, right,” he says hastily. “I don’t suppose you’ll need a mask as well, then?”    


“I do, actually,” she says, and she pulls out a dark green mask, fitted on top of her entire face. 

The Prince makes a noise of indignation.

“How come you’ve got the - the “ he gestures towards her face. “The cool, scaly ones and I’ve got the not cool plain black one?”

Even though her mask is on, the Prince can still tell that Vastra is frowning at him and pursing her lips in disapproval underneath. She ignores his question, clearly not thinking that it’s worth an answer, and stalks purposefully past the hedges, towards the wrought iron gates in front of the Palace.

Vastra walks confidently towards the security guards in front of the gates, nodding at them in greeting. They nod back respectfully, and to John’s amazement, none of them question why Vastra is out and about in this late hour. They simply pass through the gates as though it’s completely normal.

“W- what was the purpose of climbing out the window, then?” John demands. 

“The security guards at the gates do not report directly to the King and Queen.” she says, never breaking stride as she sets off towards the city square. “As Head of Security, they report to me.”

“Right,” John says. “Remind me to do a little vetting of the Palace employees when I become King.”

Vastra lets out a tiny smirk at that, clearly amused. “At this rate, you might never be King.”

“I  _ might _ !” John says, turning to her, clearly affronted. “If the King and Queen could just  _ listen  _ to me, I might be able to - “

“To what? Rule without a Queen?” Vastra finishes his sentence, tilting her head at him. “Do you really believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe though, does it?” John says bitterly. “It’s never going to change. Not until I get married and become King.”

“Maybe you should think more about how it would affect the future of our Kingdom instead of just your life,” Vastra suggests idly, turning ahead and walking on, “and maybe the King and Queen will see the benefits of having a sole ruler instead of merely thinking that it’s a tactic for you to get out of a commitment to someone else.”

“I - that’s not what I - ” he protests, but Vastra cuts him off by turning around to face him with a dubious look.

“You spent your teen years avoiding your responsibilities as a Royal. You only shouldered your role once you found out how it would start helping people,” she points out. “And this marriage wouldn’t be helping anyone, would it?” 

“Well, it wouldn’t!” he says.

“It won’t help anyone if you choose the wrong woman to lead, either,” Vastra says seriously. “It isn’t just about  _ your _ choice of a woman, Prince John, because the woman you wed will be the  _ kingdom’s  _ Queen too, eventually.”

“Of course I know that!” he says, feeling frustrated. Why is everyone treating him like he has no idea what the  _ weight _ of his decisions are? “Why do you think I’ve tried to completely turn away every other noblewoman in every other country? None of them  _ care _ about helping people! They just want servants waiting on them hand and foot; they want balls thrown so that they can buy fancy dresses and get their hair done; they want jewelry and shoes and  _ glamour _ , and life in the Palace has been anything but!”

Vastra folds her arms and purses her lips again. “Then have you told your parents that?”

“They wouldn’t understand.”

“They won’t, if you never try.”

John says nothing, still feeling residual anger from his outburst. He purses his lips and refuses to look at Vastra though he knows that she’s looking at him. Things between his parents and him have been tense for quite a while now - his mother had never quite forgiven him for the way he’s treated the daughters of neighbouring kingdoms, while his father takes his mother’s side on default. It’s been a challenge trying to explain to them that he just wants someone that cares enough to help by his side. 

Perhaps he hasn’t tried enough. Maybe he hasn’t been clear what his intentions are - his parents clearly don’t understand why he’s being so picky - they probably assume that he’s just trying to make a last desperate attempt to forfeit the throne. But he’s known since he was 18 that there would be no one else to take the title - as Craig always reminded him, no one else would care enough to help his people like he would. 

“Now, I know I probably don’t have to explain this to you, but on the off chance you see the woman we’re looking for tonight, I have to urge you  _ not  _ to reveal yourself no matter what,” Vastra warns, as they approach a lit path that leads into the centre of town. The pebbled path looks like it leads to a rowdy bar - he can hear a couple of men laughing raucously and the sound of glasses being knocked together. “Even if she asks you to, you do not reveal yourself - not under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, then?” he asks hopelessly.

Vastra looks at him like he’s just asked the daftest question she’d ever heard. “You want to know if she’ll help, don’t you? Start with that.”

Feeling completely out of place as they arrive on the doorstep of the bar, he looks at Vastra helplessly. 

“Wh- I ca- what am I doing?” he stutters, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

“For God’s sake, John! I can’t bloody well do  _ everything _ for you, can I?” Vastra exclaims exasperatedly, wrenching the door open and stalking past him, leaving him outside.

John has never seen Vastra lose her composure before - she’s always been cool, calm and collected, a proper stoic figure. She’s never lost her temper in front of him and she’s certainly never appeared to be harried or frustrated, either. It seems that she’s had quite enough of dealing with him today.

“Right.” John says. “I can do this - I’ve done it before. I’ve talked to loads of women before.” 

He doesn’t recognise the chambers he wakes up in the next morning - nor does he recognise the woman lying next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to hit that kudos button and leave a comment to let me know if you liked this chapter :)


	3. who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy almost august my peeps!!! have a new chapter, the next one's coming up in about a month (i know updates are getting slower and im so sorry but school's been kicking my butt lately 😩😩😩) this chapter has the least changes. 
> 
> Chapter title from The Archer by Taylor Swift

It turns out that John had very well overestimated his ability to talk to women. 

It hadn’t really been his fault - once he’d ordered a drink from the barmaid and promptly spat out the alcohol at her shoes, it was quite hard to keep a conversation going. 

Vastra, as reliable as ever, swept in to help him, charming the woman easily as John wipes sheepishly at his chest. He tries to help her sort out her shoes and wipe the stone floors but she shakes her head at him, clearly not trusting him enough to do the job properly. 

“Thank you,” John says to Vastra, once the barmaid is out of earshot. He shoots the glass of wine he’d ordered a dark look. “I had no idea those things tasted so vile.”

“You’re welcome,” Vastra says curtly, rolling her eyes at him. “C’mon, she isn’t here.”

“How d’you know?” He asks, eyebrows shooting up as he stands and follows Vastra out of the bar. 

“None of the women here matched the description you gave me,” she says simply. “But I’ve got a lead from that woman over there - told her you were a foreigner coming here for the first time, hence why you spat out their best wine.”

“That was their  _ best _ ?” He asks in disbelief. 

“While we chatted I mentioned that you had a rather specific type of woman - blonde, curly ringlets and green eyes. She gave me a lead,” she turns to him as they exit the bar and walk up the street. “She gave me an address for a mansion in one of the uphill streets - she told me to find a woman called The Madame, that she could help us find the person we’re looking for.”

“That’s brilliant!” John says, eyes wide with excitement. “Vastra, you are magnificent at this.”

She smiles a little wider than usual at the compliment. 

“Of course, I’ll have to go in first and inspect the place to see if it’s really a safe location for you to be in,” she continues. “The barmaid was careful not to reveal what The Madame really does - though if I’m honest, with a name like that, we cannot rule out prostitution. You might have to prepare yourself to enter an establishment like that.”

“Mum and Dad will not like this,” John mutters to himself, as they reach the end of the main road and turn into a large street with rows of sizable mansions decorating each side of the road. “I am going to be in so much trouble tomorrow.”

“Not if we stick to the plan and get back by sunrise,” Vastra says, completely unworried. “If anything, I’m the one who needs to worry, if your parents know that I’ve snuck you out of the Palace to find the girl they forbade you to find, my job is on the line.”

“My neck is on the line here,” protests John, looking at Vastra in disbelief. “I’m sure they’ll bring back the guillotine for me if they had the choice.”

“As usual, you are over-exaggerating,” Vastra says, waving his concerns away. “At most, Your Majesties will likely just ban fish fingers and custard again.”

“It’s like you  _ want  _ me to suffer,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Being denied that frankly disgusting meal is hardly the definition of  _ suffering _ ,” Vastra retorts, clearly having heard him. 

Choosing wisely to stay silent instead of attempting to win a losing battle, John carries on following the path, trusting Vastra to lead the way. Instead, he focuses on Melody. He thinks about how every step he takes is a step closer to finding her. He can’t stop the excitement from slipping into his every movement - how he seems to be a little bit more cheerful, how a spring has appeared in his step, how his smile lasts longer and his eyes are a tiny shade brighter.

He just can’t help but think about what it would be like for the both of them to see each other again - would there be surprise in her eyes? Would she embrace him; would she let him into her life? Would she let him learn every bit about her, as she had promised, or would she turn him away? Would she tell him that he’d imagined the connection between them - that it meant nothing more to her than a stolen moment with the Prince of the kingdom? 

John swallows slightly at the thought. He knows that it’s a possibility - but he owes it to himself to find out. He owes it to the kingdom to see if the woman he chose would make a fitting Queen.

As they approach the end of the road, they see large gates overlooking the biggest mansion of them all. Behind the strong, wrought-iron gates stands a majestic building, standing tall and proud. It is dark and quiet on the pavement leading up to the front porch, but the path is littered with lovely flowers growing on either side, splintering in the middle to what John can only assume is a full garden to the side of the house. They pass a magnificent, half-finished sculpture of what looks to be a dagger ripping a cloak open, and John tilts his head at it curiously. 

As they reach the porch, a pale, bald man who is clearly attempting to look intimidating blocks their path. His beady eyes scrutinise them from under his round glasses, his head turned upwards as both Vastra and John are much taller than him - and as John glances at Vastra he can see her frowning in distaste, as though not considering the other man being a worthy opponent for her to challenge.

“Madame Song is not taking any visitors without an appointment,” he says curtly. His voice rather suits his small stature, but unfortunately, it does the opposite effect of intimidating either of them. He continues, “Please leave the premises of the Cloak and Dagger or I shall be forced to remove you.”

“I apologise for the intrusion, but it is an urgent matter,” Vastra says calmly. “We must speak to The Madame.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Madame Song is seeing a client now,” he responds. “I’m going to have to ask you - ”

The front door bursts open and a tall woman, dressed in tight clothing and stilettos, her bright red lipstick standing out against the dark background, stalks forward and ignores the man at the door, who stammers at the sight of her. 

“Mistress, please - ”

“Zip it, Nardole. Madame has given you permission to go for a break. Shoo,” she waves her claw-like nails at him and he purses his lips at her, bowing slightly as he retreats into the mansion. The woman places a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow at the two of them. “Here for a consultation or an appointment?”

“We’ve come to speak to Madame,” Vastra informs her, and John can’t help but notice the way Vastra looks at the other woman. “Rose Tyler from the bar referred us here.”

The woman’s smile spreads across her face. “I knew that wee little girl was clever. Come in,” she crooks a finger at them, standing against the door to let them in. 

“Thank you,” John manages, his throat still a little dry from the entire conversation. If he’d deduced right, then this place is exactly what he thinks it is. 

“Clara, could you please get these two newcomers a manual?” The woman calls out as they enter. 

A small woman pops out from behind a desk under the staircase, her large, curious eyes staring at the front door and taking in the appearance of the masked guests. She raises an eyebrow and looks at the other woman. 

“Missy, we’re not supposed to let anyone in - ”

“Trust me, dear wife of mine,” she says, flashing a red smile at the woman behind the desk. She pauses, looking pointedly at Clara before sashaying past them and into another room. “I’ll get the wine out. Would you like a glass?”

Both of them shake their heads and Missy shrugs. “More for me then. Take your time looking through the manual. Clara will assist you.”

The short woman carries two thick binders out of the cabinet, kept in pristine condition. John looks curiously at them while Vastra seems uncomfortable and apprehensive, and he shoots a sideways look at her.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” Vastra says to Clara, as she lays the binders down on the table in front of them. “We’re not here for any services. We just want to speak to Madame - we’re looking for someone, and we were told that she might know where to find her.”

“Apologies,” Clara starts, tucking her hands into the miniskirt that she’s wearing. “Madame is occupied with another client right now, and we’re not sure when she will be done with her appointment. If it were up to me, I’d be happy to let you wait, but my wife won’t be very pleased about that. I suggest you look through the manual and pick a girl just in case.”

Now faced with the decision to leave and have their escape all been for nothing, or stay and look through the manual and possibly get a lead on his mystery girl, John slides the thick binder towards him, and opens on the first page. Immediately, his cheeks start to burn when he sees a scandalous picture of a woman, thin strips of cloth covering her private parts, a seductive expression on her face. A banner at the top tells John her name and the right side of the page isn’t a picture, but a list of preferences and her rates. 

“So as you can see, on the left is a photo of the ladies,” Clara taps a manicured finger on the binder, before moving to the right side. “And the right side is a detailed sheet of what she has agreed to do, as well as a list of things that she isn’t comfortable with. I must say that if we get reports from our girls that a client has pressured her into anything she doesn’t want to do, we won’t hesitate to kick them out and refuse to serve them - no matter who they are.” She looks at both of them sternly. John swallows uncomfortably, casting a glance at Vastra, who seems unable to take her eyes off the girl in the picture. Feeling terribly embarrassed, John tries to look interested in what Clara is saying. She indicates a few colour-coded columns, and explains, “These are one-off services. Meaning, they aren’t charged by the amount of time, but by the service itself. You can see that over here, Miss Jenny has stated that fellatio is at a rate - ”

John coughs loudly, his cheeks and ears turning even redder, and he turns away, hardly believing where he is or what he’s doing. He’s a  _ Prince, _ for God’s sake. What the hell is he doing at a high-class brothel, picking out girls for - for - 

“Sir, are you alright?” Clara asks, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hmm? Yes, yes - carry on,” he waves idly, his ears still burning. “I’m listening.”

“Right. Well, that was the one-off service. The other charge is by the hour,” Clara tells them, her finger tapping on another column on the page. “This service is only available through pre-bookings, so you’ll have to call or come over and make an appointment. It’s a set timing, so if you finish with maybe an hour or more to go, you’ll still have to pay for it. No exceptions - company policy. Any questions?”

“Are the charges negotiable?” Vastra pipes up, and John looks over at her incredulously, hardly believing what he’s hearing.  _ Negotiable? _

“No,” says Clara firmly. “They are fixed prices. Our newest girls are inexperienced, so their prices will be lower than the experienced ones. Jenny here is our newest recruit, hence her prices will be the least expensive. As you flip through the pages you’ll notice that the prices will increase.”

Vastra wastes no time in flipping through the pages, the interest palpable in her eyes as she goes through the list slowly, and John stares at her. He had no idea that Vastra was ever interested in anything like this before. He’d always assumed her to be a workaholic, married to her work, not having any hobbies or interests outside of it, but clearly he’s misread her. 

“Um.. at the risk of sounding rude, would you like to take off your masks?” Clara asks. “We do pride ourselves on our anonymity. Whoever you are doesn’t change your treatment or the prices, and we have a guarantee on maintaining your image if you happen to be a public figure.”

Vastra and John look at each other.

“Sorry, but we can’t,” Vastra says firmly. She doesn’t offer any other explanation, and Clara doesn’t press any further. 

“Alright then,” she says, “you can take your binders over to the living room. We have a liquor cabinet if you’re interested. You may take your time deciding.”

She waves her hand in the direction of a posh, elegant room, decorated with paintings and small statues. The liquor cabinet sits in the furthest corner, away from the comfortable chintz sofas and ottomans. The carpet feels soft and snug under John’s feet, and he doesn’t attempt to stray any further than the nearest seat to the door.

As Clara’s footsteps fade away, John turns to Vastra in mild panic. 

“Let’s get out of here.” John says immediately. 

Vastra looks down at the binder in her hands, an unreadable expression on her face. She sighs and looks up from it again, her jet black hair sliding across her shoulders. 

“We are this close to talking to Madame and finding out who your girl is,” she says to him. “Do you really want to leave now? We could be making real progress here.”

“Do you really believe that, or do you just want to be  _ serviced _ by one of the girls in that manual?” John shoots at her, and she glares back at him.

“I don’t want our sneaking out to be for nothing! Is that a crime?” She challenges. “Look, either we find her or we don’t. Do you want to do this or not?”

“I - I didn’t really - for God’s sake,” he sighs in exasperation, dumping his manual onto the coffee table with a loud  _ clunk _ . “I did  _ not  _ expect us to end up in a brothel. A  _ brothel _ . A real, tangible brothel with - with  _ prostitutes _ !”

He whispers the last word to her and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so primitive. Prostitutes are just workers. That’s how they happen to earn their livelihood. Don’t tell me you’re willing to hold their jobs against them.”

“They’re illegal, Vastra!”

“That law is based on the old fashioned prejudice of women not being able to enjoy sex. It’s blatant misogyny that women who have long been taken advantage of by men can’t make their way through life without being ridiculed in an imbecilic, patriarchal society that tells women not to be slutty and not to be prudish at the same time. I’m frankly very disappointed that you uphold our narrow-minded laws as your personal morals.” Vastra finishes sternly, and John is left gaping at her.

“I - well, I’ve - I’ve never thought about it that way,” he admits softly, and Vastra raises an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re a man.” She says plainly. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“No, you’re right. Of course you are,” he says, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face. The look on Vastra’s face and her words have unlocked something in him and he feels something deep inside him yearn to make it better - not only for her, but for every woman he knows. “How can I make it better? Will it help if I - I dunno - find out how they run things here? Once I’m King, it’ll be one more thing about our kingdom that I’ll fix.”

“That would be ideal,” she says. She sighs and turns to John fully, looking him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that you are one of those good ones. When King Brian was ruling, a woman could be part of the Guard but there was no way that she could be in such a vital position as Head of Security. That changed when your father took the throne. I forget sometimes that, as much as you have your mother’s temper, you are equally your father’s son.”

He smiles in thanks at her. “You don’t need to apologise. I needed a slap in the head and you gave me that.”

“Remember that when I inevitably do it again in the future,” Vastra says, turning back to her binder. John scowls at her back. 

“Which one of you wanted to see Madame?” Clara asks, from directly behind him, startling John. “Sorry,” she says apologetically. “Madame has finished her appointment and will be down in five minutes. Which one of you will see her?”

“Erm,” John looks at Vastra. “Can’t we - can’t we see her together?”

“I’m afraid not,” Clara says nodding towards the manual in Vastra’s hands. “It’s all in the manual. Only one client per session unless she personally agrees.”

“Right, right,” he mutters. Wringing his hands and trying to stop his heartbeat from skyrocketing, he pastes a smile on his face. “I will be seeing her.”

“How will you be paying?” Clara asks pleasantly. 

“Er - I - “ he swivels to face Vastra, who waves at Clara.

“I’ll be taking care of the payments for both of us,” she says, and John sighs in relief. He hadn’t brought any money or cards with him - he hadn’t exactly planned on spending the night with a prostitute.

“And have you chosen your service?” Clara asks again, tucking a small notebook and pen out of her pocket and flipping it to a blank page. “Madame has no other clients for the night, so you may choose her hourly rates if you wish.”

“Er - for the rest of the night, please,” John says, and Clara raises an eyebrow at him.

“Confident, I see,” she mutters under her breath.

“It’s not that - I don’t - I’m - ” John stutters, flustering.

“Just a tiny joke,” Clara smiles, flipping the notebook closed. “I’ll call Madame from her room and inform her you’re going up. It’s the top floor, on the left. Knock three times and she’ll answer. Have fun!"

“Right. I’m going. To her room. Now.” 

He swallows and walks towards the stairs, taking the first step slowly. He turns around to see Clara looking at him strangely, and he gives her a strained smile as he focuses on getting to the top of the stairs. He runs through potential questions inside his head as he passes the second floor and heads to the third. He starts panicking about getting kicked out halfway to the fourth floor, and he contemplates just running out when he reaches the landing of the fifth and last floor. 

There are only two rooms on the last floor, one on either side of him. Breathing in deeply, he takes a tentative step towards the left, staring at the hallway to the bedroom in apprehension, as if afraid that something will jump out at any second. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, his harsh breathing the only thing he can hear. Vastra is all the way downstairs, and she won’t be able to save him if something goes wrong. Feeling anxious, every cell in his body begging him to return to his bedroom, where everything is familiar he gulps down the anxiety and walks forward purposefully.

Reaching the door, he lifts his hand to knock and pulls back at the last second, frowning to himself and hesitating. How important is it to find the girl, really? There are other girls out there. Was she really worth a night spent in a brothel with the woman clearly in charge of it? Really, was she?

He closes his eyes and thinks about Melody, her smile and her laugh, the wild, golden curls that escaped her updo framing her face. He thinks about her teasing and the lovely way her lips moved against his, and the same desperation he felt that day tugs at his gut. He wants to find her, so badly - this is worth it. To find Melody.

He lifts his hand, but before his knuckles can make contact with the wood, the door swings open and his jaw drops. 

The woman behind the door is so, so beautiful. She is dressed in a see-through white robe, black lacy lingerie underneath. Her green eyes shine in the dim light, scrutinising him thoroughly, assessing him. Her lips are full and painted red and her wild mane of thick blonde curls surrounds her head like a captivating halo. 

He licks his lips unconsciously when she smiles at him.

“Hello,” she says, her voice low. She sounds like she was made to seduce. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hi,” he greets awkwardly, the blush in his cheeks rising again. “Sorry for making you wait, I was just - ”

“Hesitating?” She finishes, smirking at him. She moves to the side to let him in. “It’s alright. Your first time?”

“F-first time?” He repeats squeakily.

“Using an escort service,” she clarifies, closing the door behind her. “I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, so long as you don’t either. Now why don’t you take off that mask of yours?”

His fingers feel the silicone on top of his skin, suddenly remembering Vastra’s advice not to reveal himself no matter the circumstances. 

“I - I’d rather keep it on, if you don’t mind,” he says. 

“Well, that would make certain things difficult, but suit yourself,” she says. “Before we begin, I’ll lay out some ground rules. Since you’ve booked me for the rest of the night, you’re welcome to sleep here. I might not be here in the morning, and you shouldn’t expect me to. I will do anything you want me to, within my comfort zone, and should something you request be outside it, I will inform you and we will not do it. Understood?”

“Uh - Madame - ”

“River. River Song,” she introduces herself, and he nods.

“River,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue. “I’m afraid we won’t be - er - doing anything - like that. At the moment.”

She raises an eyebrow at him in question. “How do you mean?”

“I - well, the real reason I…  _ booked _ you is - well, I rather fancied that we could have a chat,” he says tentatively, watching as she settles herself on a comfy chintz chair in the corner of the room, pouring herself a glass of wine as she crosses her knee across the other. She looks rather distractingly sexy, and she ignites something in him no other woman has managed to so far. He stomps down his own arousal and forces himself to focus. 

“Well,” and her voice has become indecently low. He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes averting away from her. “If that’s what you’re into, darling, we can certainly make…  _ arrangements _ .”

He gulps again, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He needs to find another way to distract her, before he does something he’ll regret for the rest of his life. 

“It is. My first time, I mean,” he blurts out, his hands fidgeting with each other. She looks at him with mild surprise. “I’ve never really done anything like this before. Ever. I’m a little nervous and - well, worried. Is it okay if we just sit and talk for a little while? Sort of… build up to the act, as it were?”

Her expression softens and she puts down the glass of wine on the small table beside her, tucking a few of her curls behind her hair. She looks at him for a little while, and he can tell that she’s examining him even more closely than she did before, at the door. 

“Sit,” she says. 

“Er-” he looks at the king-sized bed against the wall. There aren’t any other seats in the room. “Here?”

She nods, and he perches himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, unable to think about anything else but how many times this particular bed has been used for River’s clients. Feeling his cheeks turn red again, he avoids her eye. 

“What do you do, Mr…” she trails off.

His mind working quickly, he gives her the first name he thinks of. “Smith.”

“What do you do, Mr Smith?” She asks, placing her hands on her knees. She looks elegant and seductive, and he knows that if he doesn’t find Melody then at least he’ll have someone else that might be equally perfect for him. 

“Me? I’m - I work for the government,” he says, thinking quickly. “In parliament.”

River hums in interest. “And what exactly do you do in parliament?”

John swallows as his mind races while trying to keep his expression unbothered. “I write the laws that the parliament votes on.”

“Interesting,” River drawls, resting her cheek on her palm and looking at him through her eyelashes. “Any chance you’ll put in a good word for us prostitutes?”

John flushes. “Um - I’ll - well, I’ll  _ try _ \- ”

“Relax,” River says, an amused smile playing on her lips. “I’m only teasing.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at his knees and scratching his cheek awkwardly. “But you know, if I  _ could _ \- I would certainly try.”

River scoffs at him. “Don’t make empty promises, darling. I was just starting to enjoy your company.”

“I’m not!” He says quickly, feeling slightly indignant. “I’m - I’m  _ new _ , but I want to make changes - I want to make it better for everyone here, no matter what their job is.”

“You’ve already paid for me to sleep with you, you don’t need to win my favour,” she says, clearly still not believing him. Perking up slightly and turning an innocent smile on him, she continues, “Unless that’s what you want? A little roleplay?”

He flushes even redder at that, making a small squeak and reminding himself to be  _ much _ cooler than he is now when he meets Melody again. 

“ _ No, _ ” he says firmly, and he really should’ve left it at that, but something inside him burns to just make her believe that he  _ isn’t  _ like the rest of them - that he wants to  _ try _ , he wants to make life  _ better _ for her so she doesn’t have to hide in the streets and lie about what she does. “I know that things for - for prostitutes haven’t been ideal. But soon, I - we’ll be getting a new King, and I know for a  _ fact _ that he  _ wants  _ things to change. He’s still learning about some things and he isn’t perfect by any means, but he’s much better than what we’ve got now. I know that he will try his absolute hardest to make things work, and I will do all I can to help him.”

She tilts her head at him and studies him, but it feels like she’s actually  _ seeing _ him for the first time. Her eyes run over his face, an inquisitive gaze over hers, and something in her softens visibly. He lets out a small sigh, feeling a little awkward when the pause between them stretches a little longer than comfortable. She merely stares at him like she hasn’t seen anything like him before.

“What did you say your first name is?” She asks suddenly, and he looks up at her again in surprise.

“I didn’t,” he replies. He pauses, but it’s clear she’s waiting for an answer, so he blurts out the first name he thinks off. “John- _ ny _ . Johnny. Smith. Johnny Smith, that’s me.”

“Johnny Smith,” she repeats, the syllables rolling over her tongue in a sensual way that makes him fidget on the bed. She brings her glass of wine to her lips, swallowing delicately. John finds himself staring at the line of her throat, and when she looks back at him, he reddens and looks at her feet instead. “You are a strange man, aren’t you?”

“Almost certainly,” he agrees, but a smile plays on his lips. “And you’re a strange woman, aren’t you, River?”

“I prefer  _ mysterious _ ,” she purrs, finishing off her glass and placing it on the table beside her. She positions herself as though she’s a model gracing the front page of a magazine, an erotic but elegant picture of beauty. Her legs hang off one armrest, the luxurious purple velvet complimenting her black and white ensemble. She rests her elbow on the other armrest and her cheek on her palm, her devious eyes staring straight at him. He can’t quite look away, though he definitely tries. “I find men often like chasing a mystery - and you’re certainly a man who likes one.”

“Do I?”

“Well, you’re here to find someone,” she states, a slight smile playing on her lips. “You needn’t have booked a whole night with me just to get information.” She pauses, tilting her head at him. “Unless you’d like to fuck it out of me?”

Coughing, John tries to cover just how aroused he is by the woman in front of him, lying provocatively and offering to - to  _ fuck information out of her _ . He cannot look her in the eye, and he feels a small reaction in his pants that he definitely  _ shouldn’t _ be having while he’s searching for Melody.

“Still not ready for that?” She asks, her eyebrow raised in surprise. “I must say, Mr Smith, I don’t think I’ve ever had to work this hard for a man to sleep with me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks.

“A girl likes a challenge,” she replies, her smile excited. He can’t help feeling pleased, smiling back at her. “And I’m sorry to say I haven’t had one quite as hard as you in a  _ very _ long while.”

“Well, I’m glad to be of service,” he makes a small bow to her and she chuckles, genuinely, and he feels his heart lift at the sound. She looks like she really is having fun, and he feels just a tiny bit good about himself. He thinks about how customers must just take what they need from her without even giving her a second thought, and that doesn’t sit well with him, somehow. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, what made you decide to - to - ” he gestures wildly at her, and she takes pity on him.

“You can call me a prostitute, you know,” she tells him. “Lord knows I’ve been called much worse.”

“Right. I - I wasn’t sure,” he replies. “What made you decide to become one?”

“Women often work hard in every other industry and still find themselves under the management of a mediocre man with half the skills she has,” she says honestly. “Prostitution is, now, the only industry where women have enough agency to decide what they want to do with their life and their bodies. I take care of my girls, and I make sure none of the harm other women often befall at the hands of men touches even the tips of their hair.”

“You opened a brothel so you could look after other women?” He asks, wondering just how many surprises River still has up her sleeve. She is a marvel, a mystery clouded in flower-scented mist, and he can’t help but feel the same attraction towards her, guiltily enough. 

“That, and I also  _ really _ love sex,” she purrs, her eyes darkening and her voice going low. John feels his cheeks start to heat up again. “Apparently, women aren’t allowed to take pride in their sexuality.”

“Shame, maybe there would be more women like you,” he says thoughtlessly, and when she looks at him in surprise he flushes a much deeper red than usual. “I mean, I - ”

“You know, if you hadn’t said that you’re uncomfortable, I would have jumped you by now,” she smiles naughtily at him, and he breathes deeply. “And I would give you your money’s worth.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he says to her hoarsely, his palms sweating. 

He can feel his heart pumping faster as she looks at him with a hunger in her eyes that is difficult to ignore. He can’t seem to remember that he came here looking for Melody when River is here, alluring and beautiful and incredibly smart. In the back of his mind, something about her seems mysterious but familiar all at once - something he can’t quite place.

He stares back at her, his eyes roaming her figure and appreciating the sight. He can’t quite bring himself to let go of Melody quite yet, but if the search for her doesn’t prove fruitful, River Song might be a worthy replacement. She’s capable and she cares for the people who work for her.

Plus, John can already feel a heavy sense of dizzying attraction towards her. 

“Did you book me for the night just to talk to me?” She asks, a slightly disappointed expression on her face. 

“I thought you might like a break,” he says. “From all the - well - ”

“Sex?” She asks, eyebrows raised. “Never. Men? From time to time.”

She smiles to show that she’s only teasing, and he grins back. He starts to stand and she watches him, wondering what he’s about to do next.

“I’ll leave you to get your rest,” he says. “Thank you.”

“If you really want me to rest, you should stay,” she suggests quietly, as though unsure. He tilts his head at her questioningly. “Once they see you leave, they’ll know that I’m not preoccupied with anyone and they’ll send another person up.”

“Oh,” he says, scratching his cheek as he looks around the room. “Well, I suppose I could take the chair.”

“Don’t be daft, sweetie,” she says, standing up and taking his hand, leading him to the bed he’d only just risen from. “It’s a king size. It’ll hold both of us.”

“But I - ”

“I’m no stranger to letting a man sleep in my bed,” she reminds him, letting go of his hand and settling herself comfortably. Somehow, her hair spread across the pillow makes her look even more enticing, and John looks away. “I promise I don’t bite.”

“Oh, I - well,” he swallows, watching her lovely face pout at him, and he feels his defenses fall embarrassingly quickly, choosing to ignore the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Vastra telling him that this is the exact  _ opposite _ of what he’s supposed to do. He climbs into the bed gingerly, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, the stupid mask still on his face. That is one rule he does  _ not _ intend to break. “Goodnight, River.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go folks!! i hope you enjoyed it, please leave me a lil something down below to satisfy my neediness 🥺🥺 i've been feeling particularly needy lately 
> 
> also, if ya'll are into music, do yourself a favour and please give Holiday by Little Mix a try!!! it's SUCH a good song, they've really outdone themselves this time


	4. this is the way i need to wake, i wake to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t really like sleeping - it’s a stupid activity, really. What fun is being unconscious for a quarter of the day when there’s so much to be done? 
> 
> Since young, he hasn’t needed much sleep. It used to unnerve his parents whenever he would go into their bedroom at four o’clock in the morning, but once they brought him to the doctor and determined that there really was nothing wrong with him, they just accepted that he didn’t sleep much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im horrible and i apologise. pls dont shoot me, i officially dont have an updating schedule because of school and everything else going on here, im really sorry! i hope you guys will still be interested, and i hope this chapter keeps you satisfied till the next update :) 
> 
> chapter title from Sky by Joshua Radin

He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t really  _ like _ sleeping - it’s a stupid activity, really. What fun is being unconscious for a quarter of the day when there’s so much to be done? 

Since young, he hasn’t needed much sleep. It used to unnerve his parents whenever he would go into their bedroom at four o’clock in the morning, but once they brought him to the doctor and determined that there really was nothing wrong with him, they just accepted that he didn’t sleep much.

But here now, next to River, his back turned to her and facing the wall, it feels different. He shouldn’t be here. He’d wasted his time and money, and he hadn’t even asked River where he could find Melody. It had all been for nothing. 

His thoughts drifted to the woman at the ball, her golden mask obscuring most of her face. Why hadn’t he convinced her to take it off when they kissed? It seems so obvious to him now that that’s what he should’ve done. But he hadn’t even  _ thought  _ of it at the time, too caught up in her. 

He shifts subtly, trying not to wake River. She hadn’t spoken since he got into the bed and laid next to her, and after an hour he assumed that she’d fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake her with his restless fidgeting, he forces himself to stay still. 

He lets out a puff of air between his lips, his hands reaching up to rest against his mask. It’s uncomfortable now, digging against his skin, and he wishes that morning would come so he could sneak back into the castle and give his skin a good wash. He knows that it’s probably foolish of him to keep it on while River is sleeping, but he can’t take the chance of her waking up before him and finding out that he’s the Prince. Vastra would kill him slowly.

He allows his thoughts to linger on what would happen if River found out about him. Would she sell him out? Her company had promised utmost discretion, but what about when it came to a member of the Royal family? Surely there would be papers that would be willing to give a tidy sum for that story, and River clearly enjoys a life of luxury.

River and her witty take on life. She allows men to underestimate her because of her beauty and her charm, and she gets paid for it. She keeps the girls she employs under her care and makes sure no harm comes to them at the hands of cruel men, always looking to take advantage of vulnerable women. She cares for them, and by the looks of the mansion, treats them well enough. 

Despite her profession - or maybe even because of it - River Song would make a mighty Queen. 

He feels guilty for even thinking that - he’d told Melody that he would find her and get to know her, that she would be a wonderful Queen for the people, and yet here he is, thinking about River in that way too. The two women had woven their way into his life in such a short amount of time that he can hardly process it - how will he ever find a way to separate them? 

He sighs softly, looking over his shoulder to see if it’s safe for him to move a little. He can hear River’s even breathing and carefully, he starts to muscle to the edge of the bed, just in case she’s a light sleeper. He slowly lifts himself up into an upright position, letting his feet fall silently onto the floor. He glances behind him to see if the movement has woken her up, but she remains turned onto her side, her hair covering her face. 

Looking at her curiously, he allows himself to wonder what other mysteries she has that haven't been brought to light yet. River is a mystery personified - alluring and beautiful, but always putting on a facade for her clients. He wonders if she ever gets the chance to be herself.

“Johnny,” she murmurs sleepily, and he winces at being responsible for waking her up. She turns and faces him, tired green eyes searching for his. “Leaving without saying goodbye?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just can’t sleep,” he whispers to her. She blinks at him blearily and sits up. He hurries to assure her. “No, it’s okay - you can go back to bed.”

“I’m up,” she says stubbornly, still rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. “You did pay for my company, after all.”

“I suppose I did,” he says, more to himself than to her. 

But he sighs and says nothing, still staring at the ground. River takes it upon herself to continue the conversation. 

“Clara mentioned that you came here to ask me a question,” she states casually, leaning back against the pillows. He tenses up and she notices immediately. “Lost your nerve?”

“I haven’t,” he says indignantly, before deflating again and looking away. “It’s just - a little complicated than usual.”

“You’re searching for someone, yes?” River asks. He pauses hesitantly before answering with a single nod. “Someone important?”

John sighs again, closing his eyes. He sees Melody’s regretful smile behind his eyelids, her watery eyes remaining on his even moments after their last kiss goodbye.

“You could say that,” he answers after a while. 

She nods. “Tell me about her.”

“I met her at a ball. She was just… beautiful. And really clever, too,” he adds. “I didn’t get her name - she left in quite a hurry.”

She raises an eyebrow in amusement at him. “Scared her off, did you?”

“I did not!” he exclaims, using the same indignant voice that makes her chuckle. “I may have - I don’t know. All I know is that I need to talk to her one more time, just to be sure.”

“And you’re  _ sure _ that she responded positively to you?” she asks. “I’m not leading you to a woman who wants nothing to do with you, am I?”

“No, no - it’s not like that,” he says quickly, but she raises her eyebrows at him distrustfully and he knows he has to give more than that. “She thinks we can’t be together because we - well, we’re from different worlds, I suppose. She doesn’t think that the-my family wouldn’t accept.”

“Is she right?” River asks.

“I haven’t - well, the thing is, it’s quite tricky - I don’t know,” John admits.

River scoffs and he looks up at her. 

“I’m not bothering some poor girl with a pesky man until you know for sure that your family will accept her.” River says firmly. “Those are my terms, Johnny.”

“So…” he trails off, frowning and sighing to himself. “What? I’ll have to come back here?”

She looks at him coyly, lifting her shoulder in a one-armed shrug. 

“Take it or leave it,” she says, her smile smug. 

“You’re not doing this so I’ll have to pay you more for each visit, right?” he asks suspiciously, his eyes narrowed at her. 

She puts her hand to her heart in mock offense, giving him an exaggerated scandalised look. 

“Why, I’d never! What sort of tart do you take me for, Mr Smith?”

He tries to hide the smile threatening to break his face but she looks so extremely pleased with herself that he can’t help it. Perhaps visiting River Song for a second time isn’t such a bad idea after all. She does have a point about his parents - he’ll need to talk to them about Melody; get them to see his side of things. 

Maybe they’ll finally listen to him for once.

“Right. So - so you’ll be here, yeah?” he asks. “When I come back? And then you’ll tell me where to find her?”

“If you do it right,” she smirks. “But you should get a card from Clara downstairs. Book an appointment beforehand. I’m a busy girl, you know. You might not be so lucky next time.”

“Right,” he says, standing up and preparing to leave. “You’re going back to sleep?”

“What else is a girl gonna do, all alone in a big bed,” she says, stretching out luxuriously again and propping her head up with a hand to look at him with a pout. Her silhouette looks quite inviting in the dim light, and John has to resist the urge to tug at his collar. “And no man to join her?”

He feels the familiar flushing of his skin, sure that she’s able to see the reddening of his cheeks and ears even in the dim light. She smiles, extremely pleased with his reaction and he shakes his head fondly at her. What an enigma she is.

Suddenly, without stopping to process the impulse, he presses a knee up on the bed, leaning over to press a small, tiny kiss onto River’s cheek. He momentarily forgets that he’s wearing a mask and he yelps in surprise as the silicone digs into his skin, but the rest of him seems to move automatically. His hand reaches up to hold her upper arm as his lips ghost her face, and he hears a sharp intake of breath from below him. 

He pulls slightly away and looks at her face, but that’s a mistake. He is looking directly into her eyes, widened dramatically in surprise as she stares up at him. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, almost breathlessly, and John is taken aback by the question - what  _ is  _ he doing?

“Thanking you,” he decides after a few moments, a hesitant smile lighting up his face. “It was quite an experience, Madame Song.”

He scrambles to get off her and leave the room, finally remembering himself. Back inside the room, River is still staring wide-eyed at the bedroom door, her chest heaving and her skin flushed. No client of hers has ever managed to take her by surprise - not until Johnny Smith. 

*

John finds himself breathless as he makes his way down to the first floor, utterly perplexed by his own behaviour.  _ Why _ in the world did he kiss River? It felt like something had taken control of his limbs and acted of their own accord when he leant in. 

He can’t help but remember the smell of her wonderful perfume - it is quite intoxicating, flowery and wonderful. He’s sure it’s familiar but for the life of him he can’t remember where he’s smelt it before. Knowing River, it’s probably some fancy perfume from a high class shop - his mother probably has a bottle of it at home. 

Fixing his mask over his face quickly, he eyes the receptionist on the first floor - Clara’s shift has ended, evidently. Another woman is manning the front, talking to a brown-skinned man with a scruffy beard. His face is handsome and striking, his eyes black and beady as he stares at the receptionist. 

As John approaches the ground floor, he hears a few sentences of their conversation float upwards, no matter how hard he tries not to hear them. 

“What do you mean River is  _ busy _ ?” the man demands, obviously angry. “I called ahead hours ago to make sure she doesn’t have any appointments!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” the girl says nervously, frowning as she flips through a large book. “Madame has been booked for the rest of the night - it’s already been paid for. She’s not available to see you now.”

“This is ridiculous,” he hisses, his handsome face contorting unpleasantly. “I’ve travelled far to make my way down here only for you to tell me that I can’t see River!”

“If you’re willing to wait, I’m sure another girl will only be too happy to -” the receptionist begins, but the man cuts her off harshly. 

“I don’t  _ want _ another girl,” he snarls. “I want  _ River _ , do you understand? Can you not hear what I just said? Has your corset cut off all circulation to your head?”

“There’s no need to talk to her like that, sir,” John suddenly finds himself stepping in on behalf of the girl, who looks visibly shaken and teary-eyed. “She’s already said that the Madame is not available. There’s nothing she can do about it - you’re causing a scene for nothing.”

The man looks at John with narrowed eyes, clearly scrutinizing his appearance. He sees the mask and recognizes that John must be some figure of authority, hence the need to disguise his face. He manages to compose himself, but his lips remain taught as he glares at the girl. 

“I called ahead  _ specifically _ to ensure that River would be free tonight,” he stresses angrily, and for some reason John bristles at that. “And now they’re telling me she isn’t after all!”

“You didn’t make an appointment, sir,” the girl behind the counter speaks up, looking like she just mustered up all the courage she had. “Someone else came in after you called and asked for her tonight. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it.”

“There,” John says, “An explanation for the mix-up - certainly no fault of your own, I’m sure,” he says to the girl, and she smiles gratefully at him. John turns back to the man who’s still visibly seething. “There was no need to be disrespectful to this lady. She is providing a service that  _ you want _ .”

“A service I’m  _ paying  _ for.” the man shoots back. 

“If you’re so dissatisfied with them then by all means, go to another. I daresay the loss of  _ one _ customer would make no difference to the ladies of the Cloak and Dagger.” he points out, and the man purses his lips. “Your rudeness is unbecoming. This lady is not entitled to your temper tantrums and was not rude or unkind back to you even though she had every right to be.” 

The man says nothing, but John can see his cheeks redden as he turns away from him. John makes his way to the counter and smiles at the girl, dropping it suddenly when he belatedly realises that she can’t see his expression. 

“Jenny,” he says, reading the embroidery on her corset. “Could you do me a favour? Madame is quite tired now - if you could just tell anyone who enquires that she’s not available, that would be most kind of you.”

“Sir, I - I’m not allowed to do that,” she begins nervously. “It’s a policy and I’m new here - I’m afraid I can’t -”

“I will triple the fees if you so insist,” John tells her softly, still careful to keep the other man out of earshot. He doesn’t like the idea of River anywhere near such a temperamental man - let alone being forced to be in the company of one for long periods of time. At least, that’s what he tells himself. “Please, just one tiny favour.”

Clearly hesitant, Jenny takes a moment to weigh her options before she smiles tightly at him and nods. “Only if you’re tripling the cost we might make, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, beaming at her from under his mask. “You are an absolute  _ angel _ , Jenny.”

She smiles, pleased, before going back to her work. 

“What are you doing here?” demands an unpleasant voice from another room. “I thought I made it quite clear on the phone that you are  _ not  _ welcome without an appointment.”

Missy strides in dressed in merely her shift, the skirt flowing around her ankle as she fixes her eagle eyes on the man. To his credit, he only steps back once, glaring at her head-on as well.

“Always a pleasure, Missy,” he greets coolly. 

“Wish I could return the compliment, Ramone,” Missy returns. She purses her red lips at him and narrows her eyes wickedly, walking slowly towards him with a finger pointed at his chest, clearly meant to threaten. “If you insist on squandering the rules of our establishment I will not hesitate to throw you out on your pitiful, slimy bottom, understood?”

The man called Ramone actually does gulp in fear as Missy pushes her face into his, his eyes bulging as he leans back, trying to get away from her. Her manicured nail is still pushing into his chest and he scrambles back, clearing his throat as he tries to maintain his dignity. 

“I was under the impression that I  _ did _ make an appointment earlier this evening,” he says, avoiding Missy’s eyes. “Apologies, must’ve been mistaken.”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you demanding to see River like a  _ child _ ,” Missy stresses, clearly gleeful at Ramone’s embarrassment. “And being utterly disrespectful to Jenny. We demand an apology.”

“I hardly think it necessary-” Ramone starts, but Missy cuts him off as she folds her arms and taps her foot. 

“ _ Now _ .” she says.

There is obvious reluctance on Ramone’s face to comply with Missy’s orders - he purses his lips and looks past Missy at Jenny, to John and finally, his eyes land on Missy’s waiting stance again. He clears his throat and shuffles a little, tugging on the tie around his neck as he blinks slowly. John wonders if he should intervene, but he thinks that Jenny _does_ quite rightly deserve that apology. 

“Apologies,” he mutters, and Missy frowns at him. 

“I don’t think Jenny heard that, did you, girl?” Missy says, but she doesn’t look at Jenny for confirmation. She merely raises an eyebrow at Ramone expectantly, who looks utterly flushed and embarrassed. 

“Apologies,” he says again, much louder and clearer this time. John is reminded of a chastised schoolboy being told off for talking back to the teacher. “Do forgive my rudeness, Jenny.”

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Missy says, looking absolutely pleased with herself. She turns on her heel and makes eye contact with John, who flinches at her gaze. “You. Yes, you. Ms Vastra is still washing up. She has requested that I ask you to wait in the lounge. Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you,” he declines as politely as possible, not wanting to upset or anger her in any way. Suddenly remembering River’s advice to get a card, he says quickly. “Is there a - sort of, business card that I could take?” 

“Jenny will get you one,” Missy says, and she turns to the girl, who nods and immediately disappears below the counter. “Show him to the lounge as well.”

Jenny resurfaces with a small red and black card. The writing is in gold and it looks quite luxurious - if John didn’t know what sort of place it was for he would’ve guessed that it belonged to one of those expensive tailors in the centre of town. He looks down at the writing, the gold ink shining against the dark background. 

_ The Cloak and Dagger _

_ Here to satisfy your nightly needs _

_ 84 Grandine Avenue _

_ 278-009-2421 _

Tucking the card carefully into his pocket, he follows Jenny into the lounge - he has a feeling he’ll be coming back here quite often. 

*

The next day at breakfast, John requests for toast and eggs, which immediately makes both his mother and father suspicious. 

“No fish fingers and custard?” his mum asks, her flaming red hair tied into a messy bun on top of her head. She blinks at him, examining him closely. “You’re not falling sick, are you?”

“Amy,” comes his father’s voice from behind a newspaper. “Do you really need to harp on his food choices?”

“I just feel like toast today,” John says innocently, blinking back at his mother. 

The Queen leans back in her chair, eyes narrowed. A couple of maids move around them, removing empty plates and setting more dishes down in front of them. She folds her arms and raises an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. 

“You only want a normal breakfast when you’ve done something wrong and you’re trying to gain favour.” she accuses. 

Behind the newspaper, John hears his father heave a deep sigh. Deciding to just bite the bullet and get on with it, he clears his throat and sets his orange juice down, looking across the table at his father. 

“I was hoping to talk to you,” he starts, and he waits, but he doesn’t get an immediate response from either of them. “About choosing a bride.”

Amy looks up at him, a forkful of bacon and eggs halfway to her still open mouth. Even Rory has lowered his newspaper, staring at his son through his glasses.

“Have you chosen?” Rory asks. 

“I haven’t changed my mind,” he tells them gently. “But if you’ll allow me some  _ time _ -”

“How  _ much _ time? We don’t have enough as it is.” Rory interjects before Amy can. 

“Your father is stepping down from the throne in eight months, John,” Amy reminds him. “You need to find a bride and get married  _ before _ then.”

“I know all of that,” he says, looking at both his parents and pleading wordlessly for them to listen to him. “I just - I need a couple of weeks. A month at most.”

“Is this about that masked girl at the ball?” Amy asks, looking down at her plate of food again. “Because there’s a nasty rumour about them circulating town.”

“Amy, not this again,” Rory groans, taking a sip of coffee. “Stop  _ listening _ to those ridiculous women.” 

“ _ You _ just don’t like Aunt Tabetha.” Amy shoots back.

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“What rumour?” John asks, attempting to sound casual. The subject has finally dropped into his lap and he can finally find what he’s been looking for from his parents - how would they react to the news that someone their son fancied worked as a prostitute?

“That the masked women at the ball were  _ prostitutes _ ,” Amy stressed, grinning wickedly as her husband turns bright red and sputters on his sip of coffee.

“That is a complete baseless accusation,” Rory forces out, coughing loudly.

“Think about it,” Amy says, as if presenting some logical fact to a couple of toddlers. “Why would they wear masks to an event where they could meet and charm the  _ Prince _ ? The whole purpose of the ball was to introduce John to eligible women in our kingdom. All the women would want to be remembered, and they’d  _ definitely _ want to highlight their physical beauty. How are they going to do that from behind a mask?”

Privately, John thinks that Melody managed well enough - he hardly remembers anyone else from the ball. 

“Circumstantial, Amy,” Rory sighs, returning to his breakfast and looking like he’s heard this particular theory a thousand times. 

“But why would they even want to disguise themselves?” Amy continues as though Rory hadn’t interrupted. “Obviously, it’s because they’re doing illegal activities. But the Palace guards aren’t privy to cases of criminal activities since they aren’t police. So really, they’re afraid of the other  _ citizens _ recognising them. Now, why would ordinary citizens know what criminals look like? They wouldn’t - not unless they themselves are criminals, or if they’ve come into contact before. Women are much less likely to be involved in any violent wrongdoings, and prostitutin has been a problem here for centuries. Add two and two together, and-”

“You get seven?” Rory finishes, looking at his wife wearily.

“I’m just relaying what I heard,” Amy says defensively, shrugging.

“Well, would it be so bad?” John asks.

“Would what be so bad?” Rory asks, spreading more butter on his toast. He sounds like he’s gotten tired with the ongoing conversation already.

“If- if she were a... prostitute?” he asks softly, looking warily between his parents.

The King and Queen pauses slightly, sharing an incredulous look with each other before blinking at their son in unison.

“A what?” they ask together. 

“I mean - what I’m saying is - her status doesn’t actually  _ matter _ , does it?” he says quickly, because their reactions  _ can’t _ mean anything good. He feels his insides squirm nervously, and he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “Her job and family - none of that matters, as long as she’s willing to marry me, correct?”

“Well, I suppose - technically, yes. But don’t forget that she’ll be-”

“Queen. Yes, I know,” John says tiredly, and his mother purses her lips at him in annoyance. “That’s why I need time. I want to find her, but I also want to make sure she’s right for all of us.”

Rory looks at him for a moment.

“You might not like what you find,” he warns. John meets his eyes seriously. 

“I know that,” he answers. “But I’d just - I want to try. Will you let me?”

“John - what if she  _ is _ a prostitute?” Amy asks. “Not only will you be disappointed, but you’ll have wasted all that time to come out with nothing.”

John shrugs. “Is it really so bad? If she’s smart and capable, does the way she makes a living really matter?”

“Of course it does,” Amy says, frowning seriously at him.

“But you just said it didn’t matter as long as she’s willing to marry me!” John points out.

“Rules change when it applies to prostitutes.” Amy counters, and John can sense that his mother is slowly reaching her boiling point. Nevertheless, he persists. 

“But  _ why _ ?” he demands. “Why does it matter? Prostitution is only illegal because of an old, sexist rethoric.”

“Because no Queen should ever come from the alleys, much less a Queen from  _ our _ kingdom!” Amy snaps, turning as red as the hair on her head. “We are  _ Royals _ , John. There are standards, procedures -  _ reputations _ we need to uphold. Even if, by some miracle from the Gods, the kingdom  _ does _ accept a prostitute as their Queen, it will take much more than that for me to accept one as your wife!”

“Amy,” Rory interjects. “That’s enough.”

John simply stares at his mother, mouth slightly agape. He honestly had no idea what he expected, but he feels a horribly sinking disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Maybe, deep down, he hoped that his  _ mother _ , of his parents, would be the one to understand. As a woman, she is no stranger to the disadvantages dealt to her in life - but perhaps she is merely a product of her upbringing. 

“Your mother is harsh,” Rory says to John, glaring at his wife. She simply glares back for a few moments before picking up a fork and finishing her plate. “But she isn’t entirely wrong. Our kingdom is progressive, certainly, but I do not think it wise to test the boundaries in such a risky way. Like it or not, prostitution  _ is _ still considered illegal-”

“Then change the law!” John pleads with his father, eyes wide. “You’re the King - if anyone has a chance at changing people’s minds about this, it’s you.”

“It’s not that simple, John,” Rory says, shaking his head seriously. “But before any of that happens, you have to consider this: you might be ready for such a change to happen, but is the Kingdom ready for it too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you could,,,,, leave me,,,,, a comment 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i would really love it ❤️🥺🥺❤️🤗✨❤️✨
> 
> (pls im needy)


	5. you got a heart full of gold and it's really turning me on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John hears his father outside his chambers and sighs to himself. Dinner had been quite a tense affair - neither John nor Amy had forgotten their exchange at breakfast and Rory just seemed on tenterhooks throughout the meal, trying to mediate the conversation between them. All in all, it was one of their quieter family dinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! so, a little tw: very small scene of a man being a bit aggressive and entitled here. i'm not sure if it warrants a trigger warning but i wanted to be safe just in case. 
> 
> also, smut! and this chapter hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are my own :) 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter! it's a bit longer than the rest
> 
> Chapter title from Sexual by Neiked

“Stop moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Yes, you are,” Craig says, looking pointedly at him. “You’ve been moping since breakfast but you refuse to say a word about it or stop. It’s annoying.”

“I’m thinking, alright! I need to find a way to convince my parents that people like River don’t deserve to hide in the shadows.” John replies. 

Craig’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s River?”

“Not important,” says John quickly. He turns to Craig. “What do you think about prostitutes?”

Craig gives him a strange look. “Strangely, not one of the things I find myself thinking about often.”

“No - they’re not - not  _ bad _ , are they?” John asks sincerely. 

Craig shrugs. “I used to know one. She lived above me when I was ten. She used to give me cookies to bring to school whenever she got back from work. I asked my mum what type of job required people to dress like that lady from  _ Pretty Woman _ , but she wouldn’t answer.”

“Isn’t that the movie about a prostitute?” he asks, frowning. 

Craig lifts his eyebrows at him. “You’d be surprised how many details you miss in a movie when you’re a kid.”

“Well?” John asks. Craig gives him a blank look. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh, yes - right. What was the question again? Oh, right!” Craig says quickly, and John rolls his eyes at his friend. “I mean, I don’t have anything against them. At the end of the day, it’s just a job, innit? A way to feed the kids - to put food on the table.”

John sighs in frustration. “Why can’t everyone  _ get _ that? It’s just work for them.”

Craig shrugs. “People don’t like it when women use sex in any way that isn’t beneficial to men.”

John blinks at him.

“When did you get smart?” he asks. 

Craig bristles, offended. “It certainly isn’t from spending time with  _ you _ .” he says, clearly miffed. 

*

“Let me get that to him.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

John hears his father outside his chambers and sighs to himself. Dinner had been quite a tense affair - neither John nor Amy had forgotten their exchange at breakfast and Rory just seemed on tenterhooks throughout the meal, trying to mediate the conversation between them. All in all, it was one of their quieter family dinners.

Rory lets himself into his son’s chambers and spots him by the balcony, sitting underneath a telescope and another complicated contraption he doesn’t recognise. He sets the clean laundry down on the bed and moves over to the back of the room, sitting down in a chair by the sliding doors and eyeing John carefully. He knows that his son is aware of his presence and is merely waiting for him to initiate conversation - Rory just isn’t quite sure  _ how _ . 

He knew before coming here that they needed to have a chat, but he’s not sure how to go about beginning the conversation.

“You have an appearance scheduled at Graystark Orphanage tomorrow,” Rory reminds him. “Your schedule is quite full, actually.”

“They’re for charity, mostly,” John replies, still looking between the railings at the twinkling lights of the city. “That fundraiser at the Royal Academy was supposed to be  _ your _ thing, you know.”

“Your mum would kill me if I missed the anniversary.” Rory waves him off. 

“Your anniversary is in three months.”

“I know. It’s the anniversary of her coronation,” he explains. John nods in understanding, his mouth twitching slightly in amusement. “She insists we celebrate even though no one else does.”

“Sounds like her,” John says, letting a reluctant chuckle escape her lips. 

“Yes, it does. Now why don’t you tell me about this woman you’re looking for?”

John groans. “Dad… I don’t want to hear it anymore, alright? I’ll figure something out.”

“Your mother and I love you, John,” Rory says sincerely. “And we want you to be happy - but it comes with a cost.”

“Doesn’t everything?” John asks sardonically.

“Some costs are just too hefty to pay,” the King warns, and John finally turns to look at his father. “Especially when it comes to the future of this kingdom.”

‘I just… I look at you and mum,” John says softly, shifting slightly so that he faces Rory. “And I don’t want a marriage unless it’s one like yours.” he sighs sadly. “I guess we can’t all fall in love with our childhood best friends who happened to be the daughter of a judge.”

Rory winces sympathetically, but can’t find anything else to say. After a few moments of silence, John resumes his original position, leaning against the sliding doors as he looks out of the balcony into the kingdom. 

“I’m sure that if you prove she’s worth it, and that you accept all the consequences - and I do mean  _ all _ of them, John, because there is going to be hell to pay if you do marry an escort - your mum will come around to it.” Rory says carefully, trying to gauge his son’s reaction. 

But John doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even blink. He merely turns to his father with a sad stare, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. 

“I think… even if I don’t end up marrying her, I want things to change here,” he says. “Prostitutes don’t harm anyone. Most of the time they’re the ones that are harmed - and I want them to be safe and protected here - and maybe, one day, welcomed.”

“Maybe one day, John,” Rory says, clapping him on the shoulder. “If you work hard enough, if you  _ feel _ strongly enough about it, you can do it.”

“You think?” John asks, looking up at his father as he stands from his chair. 

“Of course,” Rory says, without any hesitation whatsoever. “It’s in your blood.”

*

“We’re so thankful for your visit, Prince John,” Director Grey says, as John is shown into his office. It is a sizable room, furnished tastefully with comfy looking couches and a welcoming aura all around. “It has come at quite an opportune moment indeed.”

“I’m aware that Graystark Orphanage has been struggling?” John asks seriously, taking a seat opposite the Director.

“More children being found without parents, I’m afraid - it’s kept our lodgings filled to the brim,” the Director says anxiously, looking outside the window at the children playing merrily at the playground. “We’re due to upgrade our facilities a few months ago but we’ve not had the budget for it - even had to turn away a few desperate mothers looking to put their child up for adoption. It’s been quite harrowing.”

“And what about your sponsors and donors? Have they done anything to help?”

“They’ve done all they can, Your Majesty,” he replies. “We have regular donors who do their best - I don’t know how we could’ve survived the past few months without them - and our sponsors are mainly business deals, so if we don’t turn in results we don’t get the funding.”

“I understand,” John says, looking past the man and out the bright window, frowning thoughtfully as he sees all the young children laughing and playing together. He meets the Director’s eyes again. “We’ll do everything we can to help, Mr Grey.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, clearly relieved at John’s answer. “Thank you very much, Your Majesty. The children and I owe you a great debt.”

“No problem at all,” John replies, smiling.

There is a knock on the door and Mr Grey stands, frowning. “Who is it?”

A familiar voice answers and John’s heart almost stops. 

“Why, it’s me, Mr Grey,” says River Song as she opens the door and enters the room, smiling her signature mysterious smile. “I would’ve thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Ms Song!” Mr Grey cries in greeting, kissing both her cheeks before welcoming her in. “I’m so sorry for the interruption, Your Highness - this is Ms River Song, she’s one of our regular donors. Her generosity has helped us for many years.”

“River,” he says under his breath, staring at her. It’s quite different seeing her fully clothed, but she looks just as lovely as she does in her lingerie. 

She seems just as shocked to see him there, and he doesn’t blame her - she only recognizes him as the Prince of the kingdom now, and he struggles not to think of the more intimate details they’ve shared with one another during their one night in the Cloak and Dagger.

“Prince John,” she finally says, her eyes still wide as though she can’t quite believe he’s really there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I do apologise, Ms Song, I forgot to postpone our meeting,” Mr Grey says, evidently not noticing how his two guests can’t take their eyes off each other. 

“No bother, dear,” she says idly, still looking at John. “I’ll just make the payment and be on my way, alright?”

“No time spent with the children today?” Mr Grey inquires, frowning. “I know Susan has been looking forward to your next visit.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude on the Prince’s visit - I’ll just -”

“You wouldn’t be intruding at all,” John finds himself saying, and River stares at him with her mouth open. He smiles, ears reddening once more as he says, “You’re welcome to stay. Ms Song. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of dear Susan’s disappointment.”

“I-” River flusters, clearly not expecting to be welcomed. Mr Grey makes no move to disobey the Prince and she swallows, nodding faintly. “Of course. How lovely of you, Your Highness.”

“The Prince has generously agreed to help our orphanage, Ms Song,” Mr Grey says excitedly. “Maybe we’ll finally be able to afford those upgrades you suggested.”

“Oh?” River says, taking a seat next to the Director. “Have you discussed anything beyond the infrastructure? What about the children’s needs - the cook, the doctor, their lodgings and everything else?”

Mr Grey lets out an uncomfortable laugh, looking at River as though he can’t understand what she’s trying to accomplish. “We’ve only just started our discussion, Ms Song, we haven’t had the chance to go over the finer details just yet.”

“Your input will be much appreciated, of course,” John says. “May I ask why you have an interest in this establishment?”

“The children here aren’t as lucky as you are, Your Highness,” River says bluntly. “I used to be one of them - before Mr Grey, my aunt was the Director. She put me in here instead of taking me home with her after my parents passed. It was a lot different, then. Overcrowded, no education, little to eat and nothing to do except get into trouble.”

“Ms Song has been a vital part in improving the orphanage ever since she left,” Mr Grey says. 

“Orphans just want someone who cares for them,” she says, shrugging. “I have the time and money, I figured if I could help make it easier for them - it will all have been worth it.”

“How…  _ kind _ of you,” John says softly, and he knows instantly that his heart has fallen at her feet.

River smiles. “Only to those whose lives have shown little kindness at all.”

*

John gets to spend the rest of the afternoon near River, who is surprisingly amazing with kids. She brings them each a gift and spends time braiding the girls’ hair while teaching the boys how to kick a football properly. John had proposed a match - boys versus girls - and River gave in only when Susan asked her, pleading with wide eyes. 

He hardly noticed the paparazzi watching them from beyond the fence. He kept wanting to tease River before realising that she doesn’t have a clue who he is - and he bites his tongue in disappointment, wishing he could just tell her. She is compassionate and considerate, headstrong and a wonderful leader - he would be a fool to give her up.

He decides then, when he arrives home after letting the girls win, that he’ll stop asking for Melody. She had been a wonderful contender, but now that he knows that River isn’t just clever, but kind and good as well - he can’t think of another reason why he would want to search for someone else when she’s right there. 

When Vastra finds him long after the rest of the Palace has fallen asleep, he tells her everything he knows about River - how he thinks she could really be a perfect fit for the throne, how she’s generous and kind and giving, how he feels like maybe it’s okay that he’ll never find Melody because he was meant to find River instead. 

Vastra doesn’t interrupt until he finishes, and after that she takes a long pause as she frowns at him thoughtfully. 

“Maybe... maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, John,” she advises, folding her arms. “You find out she donates to  _ one _ orphanage and now you think she’s ready to govern a whole kingdom?”

“It’s just - I have a feeling about her,” he says seriously. “I really think she’ll be up for the task and-”

“Two days ago you were desperate to find Melody,” Vastra points out. “And after one night with River, suddenly you’re willing to let it go?” 

“My parents want me to marry as soon as possible,” John says defensively. “I can’t help if I’m feeling a little short on time.”

“Wait it out, John,” Vastra says seriously. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be making these kinds of decisions so quickly, on impulse. Maybe what you feel for River is merely infatuation or... I don’t know,  _ lust _ -”

“Trust me, Vastra, there is no lust between us,” John shakes his head. “Attraction, maybe. But I’m not in lust with anyone, nor is River in lust with me.”

“Just wait, John,” she says again, sighing. “Please, wait. Think about it - take your time to think about it, and if you still feel this strongly after a few days, I’ll let it go.”

John purses his lip, obviously dismayed by her reaction - he hadn’t expected Vastra to be so against his courting of River. But perhaps he should’ve expected it - his Head of Security is extremely sensible, clever and calculative, always careful to come up with every possible outcome before making a decision. That’s what makes her such an excellent soldier. 

“Alright,” he concedes finally, glancing at the telephone, where the business card of the Cloak and Dagger sits comfortably. He meant to call after talking to Vastra, but now... he’ll wait a few nights before doing anything, just to be sure. “I’ll wait.”

*

It is another three nights before he actually calls the Cloak and Dagger - he’s thought of little else for the past seventy-two hours, and his entire being itches with the urge to do something completely unsensible - like propose to River. However, Jenny is the one who picks up and informs him that River has been booked for the next two nights - another forty-eight hours of agony and  _ waiting _ . 

Despite that, he takes the chance - of course he does, without any other option to present itself. He makes arrangements for him and River to be together for a full night - it will no doubt be a long, strenuous conversation. In hindsight, maybe it isn’t so bad that River isn’t available for the next two nights. He hardly knows how to go about bringing up the topic - how can he even reveal himself to her?

He thinks and thinks and thinks about it. His mind is preoccupied all throughout those two days that even his parents start to take notice - exchanging worried glances over the rims of their goblets and keeping conversation light.    


He hardly notices this, lost in thought. 

When the time does come for him to meet River, he goes alone. He prepares everything he needs - enough cash to pay for his session, his mask and a sheet of paper filled with questions and notes he wants to clarify with River tucked into the pockets of his tweed jacket. Sneaking out without Vastra is a bit of a hassle, especially since he needed to find a way to sneak past the guards at the gate, but he manages to squeeze through the hedges without scarring himself too badly. 

He doesn’t waste time after that. Once he’s safely out of the palace’s range, he runs until he reaches the magnificent gates of the mansion that houses the Cloak and Dagger. His heart pounds in his chest as he walks up the driveway, past the still half-finished statue and onto the steps. 

But as he approaches, he hears voices - angry voices. The front door is open and he sees the light pouring from the room out into the night, illuminating the porch. He notices several shadows moving around and he realises that he recognises a most of the voices - Missy, Clara and a man’s voice, someone he’s definitely heard before. 

He steps through the doorway and finds the three of them arguing, Missy and Clara on one side and the man - Ramone - on the other. Missy is brandishing an umbrella at Ramone as if it’s a sword, but John does not doubt that she could do serious damage if she puts her mind to it. 

“I warned you,” Missy says dangerously, her eyes flashing. Clara places a hand on her chest but Missy does not back down, glaring viciously at Ramone like he’s done something completely unforgivable. “I warned you what would happen if I hear from River that you’ve followed her around again-”

“It’s not like that!” Ramone exclaims, clearly fearful. His eyes follow the tip of the umbrella warily, like the edge of a sharp blade that could do real bodily harm to him. “I was just doing some shopping and bumped into her at the market -”

“Don’t give us that rubbish!” it’s Clara that retorts this time, and John blinks in surprise. She is quite small, but her expression is fierce and furious as the intensity of her glare matches her wife’s. “We know plenty well that you have  _ servants  _ doing your shopping for you, Ramone.”

“What is going on here?” 

John swivels and sees her - River, a wonderful vision in dark blue, descending the stairs with an annoyed look on her face. She takes in the scene of Missy, Clara and Ramone, her eyes barely fleeting past John before she reaches the bottom of the stairs and folds her arm. Suddenly, John is reminded of a mother having caught her children stealing from a shop. 

“Our session was over two hours ago,” River says to Ramone coldly, and John’s stomach flips at the knowledge. He knows - he knows it’s her job, that she  _ loves _ her job and she does it because she  _ wants  _ to - but the thought of her and Ramone makes his insides burn with something he’s never quite felt before. “We had an agreement, Ramone.”

“I was just stopping by because I found this on me,” he says to her, reaching inside his coat and pulling a lacy pair of knickers out, passing it to her with a pleased smile. “I didn’t want you to think I ran off with it like some pervert.”

“Right,” River says, taking her underwear from him. John looks away, feeling his cheeks heat as a vision of her in those knickers and nothing else forms in his mind, and he tries to push it out hurriedly. “Please leave the premises immediately, Ramone. You’re making a bad impression on another customer.”

Ramone turns to look, clearly not realising that someone else had entered the house. He nods in acknowledgement and turns back to River, that stupid smile still stuck on his face. 

“What, not even a thank you?” he asks, but River does not reciprocate a smile, nor does she give any indication that she wants him to stay - and John feels oddly triumphant about it. “What sort of lady forgets her manners?”

“I’m hardly a lady, as you very well know,” she says, and she steps closer to him - to anyone else, it is a threatening move and a signal to scarper immediately. To Ramone, however, it is permission to press himself into her. “Which means that I’m perfectly capable of throwing you out the door myself and watching you land on your sorry arse.”

Instead of cowering, Ramone laughs. “You wouldn’t, my dear.”

She scorns at him, her expression sour as she looks straight into his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” she whispers.

“I’ve been a loyal customer for over a year, River,” he says to her softly, a hand reaching up to stroke up and down her arm. Missy makes a move towards him but Clara pulls her back, recognising that River can handle herself. “Would you really treat me that way?”

River shakes her head. “You have been harassing me for months, refusing to take no for an answer. I’m not putting up with it anymore - you’re not welcome here.” she wrenches her arm out of his grip and pushes him away. “I’m  _ not _ interested. And if I  _ ever  _ catch you stepping even a  _ toe _ into my property I won’t hesitate to sue you for trespassing-”

Ramone scoffs. “Trespassing? Do you think the court will even care about that when they hear that you’re running a filthy  _ brothel _ ?”

River looks murderous - if looks could kill Ramone would be dead a thousand times over - but before she can do anything, Missy jabs the end of her umbrella into Ramone’s torso. Hard. 

“ _ Fucking _ bitch!” he spits, swivelling to glare at the married couple. Missy looks incredibly pleased with herself but Clara steps back in fear, though her eyes still maintain some form of fury as she glares at him. “How  _ dare _ you touch me, you whore-”

Multiple things happen at once, and John seems to experience it all in slow motion. River slaps Ramone hard across the face, fury radiating from every inch of her. Missy discards the umbrella entirely and grabs the end of Ramone’s tie, pulling it viciously as he struggles. Clara shouts loudly above the din, tugging on Missy’s skirt to pull her back while calling Ramone every name in the book. 

When John finally steps up to pull Missy away from Ramone, the other man is almost blue in the face. The women look warily at him and he knows why - he is a man, like Ramone. A customer, like Ramone. Someone of prominence in society, like Ramone. 

But he isn’t Ramone.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” John tells him, as Ramone catches his breath. 

“All I wanted,” he begins, heaving and puffing. “Was a chance to be with River - just  _ once. _ You couldn’t even give me that.”

“And all I wanted was for you to leave me alone,” River responds coldly. “I don’t owe you  _ anything _ , Ramone. I’ve told you time and time again that it’s business. I don’t care for you.”

“Then I will  _ make _ you,” Ramone bites out forcefully, glaring vindictively at her. “I will have you, River Song, whether you bloody well like it or not.”

“That’s enough,” John interrupts, before they can go any further. He narrows his eyes at Ramone. “I know your face. I know who you are. And rest assured that if I hear that you have not left River alone then I  _ will _ report you. And the judge  _ will _ believe me.”

“You have no proof.” Ramone spits.

“Perhaps,” John smiles under his mask, eyes piercing the other man. “But do you really want to risk it?” 

Ramone doesn’t answer, finally accepting defeat as he looks away with his lips pressed together. He is still breathing heavily, looking utterly dishevelled in the scuffle. John turns to face the women and smiles at River, holding his hand out to her. 

“I believe it is my session, Madame Song,” he says, eyes locking with hers. She takes his hand but she doesn’t move, still looking past John over at Ramone. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken care of it for now.”

River nods, smiling gratefully at him before turning to Missy and Clara. “Make sure he leaves. I do  _ not _ want to see him ever again.”

The two women nod solemnly, and River grasps John’s hand tighter as she leads him up the stairs. She remains quiet the entire time, looking straight ahead and holding onto his fingers.

When they’re finally in her bedroom and she closes the door behind her, she smiles gratefully. She looks up at him with wide, sincere eyes and tilts her head at him in question.

“You didn’t have to help,” she says.

“I wanted to,” he answers. 

“Well,” she pauses, before approaching him and pressing herself into him. He lets her, a slow smile spreading across his face as his eyes darken behind the mask. “Thank you, Johnny.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves it away, but he’s pleased that she doesn’t seem to be dreading her session with him, like she so clearly had with Ramone. “Does he do this often?”

River’s face falls and she sighs tiredly, looking away. She takes a step away from him and he misses the warmth of her body against his immediately. 

“Not at first,” she starts, settling herself on the edge of the bed. She looks up and pats the space beside her in invitation, and he follows suit. “He was just a customer - but he started wanting more and I told him it was purely business, but by then he was a loyal customer and we made good money from his visits. It was stupid, I know,” she sighs again. “And by the time he started really getting aggressive it was too late - we couldn’t cut him off.”

“What - what do you mean, aggressive?” he asks, almost fearful of the answer. 

“Not like that,” she assures him, but John still doesn’t feel easy about it. “Ramone is all bark and no bite. But he’s been really…  _ assertive _ . Insistent. He seems to think we’d make a good match outside the bedroom and it doesn’t matter how many times I refuse - he always comes back to try again.”

“Is he… do you think he could be dangerous?” John asks seriously. 

River sighs, crossing her legs over each other and cradling her cheek in her palm. “I don’t think so. But you never know…” she trails off and looks at him. “Men are usually predictable when they come here.”

John’s brow furrows as she looks at him pointedly. “What, me?”

“You are the least predictable man that’s ever walked through those doors, Johnny.” River smiles at him, and he feels himself beaming back, the tension seeping from his frame. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a man hire someone here just to keep them company for a few hours.”

John shrugs, a small smile still playing on his lips. “I want to contribute to our economy.”

River raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you now? The bustling economy of sex work?”

John nods seriously at her. “It’s a lucrative market, we’re looking for new ways to drive business-”

She hits him lightly on the chest, laughing at him. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.” 

“Perhaps,” he replies, feeling the spot where she touched him bloom with warmth. 

“Can I ask,” she says, eyeing him curiously. “Who are you, Johnny?” 

John feels panic rise as he struggles to find an answer. “Well, I - I’m sorry, River, I can’t tell you.”

“I know,” she sighs, tilting her head at him. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? You must be someone really important if you insist on wearing that awful mask everywhere.”

He pouts beneath the silicone. “Hey! What’s wrong with it? It’s custom made, you know.”

“I know,” her smile widens and her eyes turn darker somehow, and he feels something burn within him, an overwhelming desire to push her against the bed. “But it makes kissing you awfully difficult."

It takes every fiber of his being not to whip off his mask and taste her lips. She seems well aware of the internal struggle he’s having, smirking devilishly at him as his hands itch to find her waist and pull her on him. He swallows roughly and looks around, spotting an eye mask on the nightstand that River presumably wears to sleep. 

“River,” he says roughly, and his voice has gotten low and hoarse - he’s surprised by just how much  _ desire _ his voice betrays. He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, but the  _ damn _ mask is in the way and he growls in frustration. “Do you consent to covering your eyes?” 

River looks into his eyes, dark hazel meeting a sea of murky green and she nods, swallowing thickly. “What with?” 

“Eye mask.” he says, tilting his head in the direction of her nightstand. At her nod, he gets up to take the smooth red satin fabric in his hands, looking back at River. “Can I put it on for you?” 

“Of course,” she whispers, her voice low. 

He settles himself on the bed and stretches the elastic part over her hair, struggling momentarily to get it over her mass of golden curls. He settles the mask carefully over her eyes, adjusting it so that he is sure that she isn’t able to see anything. 

“Is that good?” at her nod, he swallows in excitement. “I’m taking my mask off now, River.”

“What will you do to me?” she asks breathlessly, and it is so completely arousing to him - what is she doing to him? 

“Undress you,” he says softly, letting his own mask drop by the foot of the bed. “Slowly. Will you let me do that?” 

“Yes,” she answers, her breathing laboured, and he knows that this is as arousing for her as it is for him. 

“And will you let me taste you?” he asks, reaching for her slowly. He takes a hand first, kissing up her arm at a leisurely pace. “Your skin… your lips… your tongue… everywhere else?” 

“Johnny,” she whispers, barely a breath. His lips are at her shoulder now, pushing away the dark blue satin robe and revealing more bare skin to his eyes. “Yes, please.”

“I want you to know that I will do everything I can to satisfy you, River,” he tells her, breathing into her neck. Her perfume is flowery and heady, and he feels a sharp, dizzying sense of need shoot into him. “Tell me if I’m doing something wrong.” 

“Then you should know,” she whispers low, her voice a siren’s song in his ears. “There’s very little I don’t like.” 

His lips make contact with her neck, nibbling and sucking as she breathes deeply above him. One of her hands is clutching at the back of his hair and he doesn’t mind, welcomes the feel of her on him. He tugs gently on the knot in front of her robe and watches, mesmerised, as the fabric slides off her skin and reveals her gorgeous body to him.

“Glorious,” he whispers, and he sees her lips turn upwards at the compliment. 

His hands trace the shape of her, running down her sides delicately. She is still in matching blue lingerie underneath, and he so wants to take it off her. 

“No one’s stopping you, sweetie,” she says, clearly amused, and he blinks before he realises that he’s been talking aloud. 

Finding comfort in the fact that River isn’t able to see the intensity of his blush, he continues kissing her neck, making sure to mark her skin with his teeth. She chuckles above him, carding her fingers through his hair. He presses one last kiss to her throat before moving downwards, snapping the strap of her bra against her skin. 

He licks a wet trail down to her breasts, encased in a lacey bra that does wonders for her - but he needs to know how she looks naked. He pushes her down gently until she is lying comfortably on the bed, and he throws a leg over her. 

“I’m taking this off now,” he tells her, and she moans in response. 

He pulls the straps over her shoulder one by one as he kisses the tops of her breasts, licking and sucking hard. He can feel her hardened nipples poking out against the fabric and he moves the cups of the bra away, letting her breasts go. 

He has to resist the urge to take a nipple in his mouth as soon as he sees it. Instead, his hands dip between her back and the bed to unhook the bra and he throws it off the bed, gazing down at her. 

“Admiring the view?” she asks after a few moments.

“So much to admire,” he says back, cupping one breast in his hand and brushing a thumb over her nipple. She whimpers at the light contact, squeezing her thighs together. “It might take all night, River.”

She smiles. “Better get started, then.”

“Gladly,” he whispers, pulling the other nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly as his hand continues fondling her gently. She gasps and presses his head closer to her chest, pushing more of her breast into his mouth. He pulls away and admires the marks that his teeth made. “You taste wonderful.”

“Wait till you taste the other parts of me,” she whispers, moaning when he starts sucking on the other nipple. 

Her hips push into his and he can feel her desire, her damp thighs pressing themselves against him. She starts rubbing herself against the fabric of his trousers and he has to stifle a groan at it - God, if he could just watch her as she comes - 

But he shakes his head at the thought, knowing that what they’re doing now is risky enough. He’ll just need to be satisfied with what he has now. 

He moves further down and realises he’s still fully dressed, so he lifts himself off her momentarily. She waits patiently as she hears the ruffle of clothing and gentle thuds as fabric hits the floor, and when he moves over her again she feels hot, sweaty skin against hers and she groans loudly. 

“Johnny, please,” she sighs breathily, and he decides then and there that he will do everything it takes to hear her say his name that way.

He spreads her legs, eyeing the damp skin hungrily as he bends her knees and settles between them. There is a small wet spot on her knickers and he moves closer, taking a whiff of her scent. As it hits his nostrils, his head drops against her pelvis and he mouths at the fabric as his fingers toy with the edge of the lace. 

He turns his head to lick the wetness off her thighs and she shudders beautifully, letting out a needy whimper that only strengthens his resolve to tease her until she is undone beneath him. He looks up and sees her chest is heaving, sweat running down her body and her hands gripping at the sheets beside her. She is heavenly - the very definition of it. 

He pulls her knickers down her legs slowly, swallowing as her centre is revealed to him. He has only done this once before, with a girl he fancied in school before she moved away. They were each other’s firsts, and they explored sex together whenever they could - but he’s only kissed a girl there  _ once _ , and he wants to please River so badly. 

“Tell me,” he breathes against her, his hot breath on her aching core, causing another shudder to run through her. “Teach me how to lick you.”

She takes another shuddering breath as one hand lets go of the sheets, returning to the back of his head. She plants her fingers tightly into his scalp and he lets her take control, moving wherever she guides him. She moves him directly in front of her core.

“Tongue,” she whispers, and he opens his mouth to lick at her, tasting her salty-sweetness for the first time. 

It is a mildly confusing flavour, and he dips his head to lick at her again, more confidently this time. She shivers above him as he explores her taste. It takes him a while to decide that yes, he quite likes the taste of her, and he covers her with his mouth, entering her with his tongue. 

She tightens her grip on his hair and steers him, moving him back and forth as she curses into the air. He can hardly keep up, trying his best to follow her directions as he curves his tongue inside her and licks at her walls. Soon, her arm gets tired and she resorts to thrusting her hips against his face, and he can’t quite believe that he’s here, right now, with his tongue inside River Song.

Her thighs clamp on his head as she rocks back and forth, moaning his name again and again. She starts moving faster and faster, and he follows in kind, doing all he can to keep up with her pace, and before he can even register the shaking of her thighs around him, she screams into the air. 

A flood of liquid rushes into his mouth and he licks her up happily, humming against her as she catches her breath. It is intoxicating, he thinks -  _ she _ is intoxicating, and it scares him that he doesn’t care what happens as long as he’s with her. 

She is still panting and heaving as he resurfaces, wiping his mouth on the back of her hand. She reaches for him blindly, grabbing his torso and pulling him into her. He makes a squeak of surprise as he falls on top of her. 

“Kiss me,” she whispers. 

He leans down and takes her lips with his, and she moans at the taste of her in his mouth. It is passionate, wet and slow, everything he’s imagined kissing River would be like - and he only pulls away when there is no more air in his lungs.

“Condom?” he asks, just a breath apart from her. 

“Top left drawer,” she tells him, and he hurriedly scrambles off her to get the condom. 

He tears the packet and rolls it over himself, looking at her naked body with such lust and desire. 

“You are… absolutely enchanting,” he whispers as he climbs over her again. “I hope you know that, River. You are utterly gorgeous.”

He kisses her again and she moans into it, following his lips as he pulls away but whimpering and dropping her head down when he gets too far. He wraps her legs around his waist, caressing her smooth skin softly and dropping his own head down so that they are face to face. 

“I wish I could look into your eyes,” he whispers, his tip touching her wet entrance. “I wish I could see what you look like the moment I’m inside you. I wish I could see how beautiful you are when you come around me.”

“What’s stopping you?” she whispers back.

“Everything, River,” he says, and he pushes himself into her before she can ask anymore questions. 

She gasps as she is filled, tilting her head back slightly. His lips meet hers gently as he starts moving his hips, rocking harder and harder into her. She moans and groans as she holds onto his torso, clutching at him as she feels him move within her. He clutches at the sheets and and anchors himself within them, groaning as he starts moving roughly. 

He thrusts into her sharply, grunting each time he reaches deep inside her, and he knows by the small screams she releases with each thrust that it feels as good for her too. He drives harder and harder into her, pushing them up the bed with each thrust, and when he feels her nails claw into his back, it only makes him even more determined to make her scream. 

She clenches around him and he almost sees white. He knows he is so close, and he starts thrusting faster and faster, his vision blurring around the edges as all the sensations overwhelm him - her nails on his back, her muscles clenching around him, her breathless screams in his ear, the smell of her sweat mixed with her perfume, the feel of her skin against his - it is too much, feels much too good, and with a few more frenzied, haphazard thrusts inside her, he finally comes. 

His orgasm pulls a few more thrusts from him and she comes too, panting breathlessly as she arches her back and pushes her sweaty hair away from her face. He collapses on top of her, breathing into her neck and closing his eyes at the feel of her muscles still clenching around him. He swallows and presses a chaste kiss to her lips, rolling them over so that she is on top of him. 

She lays her head on his chest, burying her nose into his skin. “Can I see you?” Her voice is hopeful and tentative. 

He hesitates. He knows now that he’s had sex with River that he will want her all the more - he will want her as a wife and everything that comes with their marriage, not simply as a Queen. But his father is right - he needs to think of the Kingdom too, and this is not the way he wants her to know that he is the Prince. 

“Not yet,” he whispers to her. 

“Not yet?” she repeats.

“Not yet,” he confirms, and his heart lifts to see the smile on her face. “I…” he trails off again, hesitating, but he resolves to be brave. “I really like you, River. I want you to know who I am, but it’s not the right time yet.”

“Okay,” she says, kissing his chest softly. “I can wait for you, darling.” 

He smiles down at her - she is so gorgeous and he can hardly believe that he’s holding her this way. A few hours ago, he’d been nervous to even kiss her, and now - now he can’t get enough of her. 

Her hand creeps along his thigh and he jerks in surprise when her fingers wrap around his length, letting out an undignified squeak. She giggles and turns her face towards him, a smirk playing on her lips. 

“You’re not tired, are you?” she asks, and there’s a challenge in the question, in the way she raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Not for you,” he replies, and their lips meet again. 


	6. as sure as stars are shining, one day you will find me again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a few more hours until they are fully satiated with one another. River fidgets with the mask over her eyes and John knows that it must be uncomfortable for her, so he reaches over the foot of the bed to pick up the mask that had fallen during their passionate entanglement. He wipes away still dripping from his forehead and fixes the silicone firmly onto his skin, the mask slightly slippery against his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! sorry for not updating for more than a month, it's been a real wild ride. especially these last few days lmaooo. i'm not american but damn i hope trump loses lol. anyway i hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a really important one and it was the hardest to write of all
> 
> thanks for reading guys - i hope you'll leave me a comment to let me know you liked it!
> 
> chapter title from Love Will Lead You Back by Taylor Dane

It is a few more hours until they are fully satiated with one another. River fidgets with the mask over her eyes and John knows that it must be uncomfortable for her, so he reaches over the foot of the bed to pick up the mask that had fallen during their passionate entanglement. He wipes away still dripping from his forehead and fixes the silicone firmly onto his skin, the mask slightly slippery against his face. 

He reaches over and lifts River’s mask without warning, making her squeak in surprise as her vision returns to her and the dim light of the room fills her eyes. She looks over at him in astonishment but her expression quickly changes to one of disappointment when she sees that he has donned the mask once more. 

“I thought you’d finally let me see your face,” she says quietly, her eyes running over his face - it takes him a moment to realise that she is imagining what he would look like underneath, and for a brief moment he considers this thought. When he finally reveals himself, would it be anything like what she’d hoped for? 

“You know I can’t,” he answers, equally quietly. There is a tinge of regret in his voice and it is this, perhaps, more than anything, that makes her nod in resigned acceptance. He wraps an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, her head resting against his side and their legs stretched out in front of them. “Thank you. For tonight. I’ve never - I mean, I guess I have, but - well, not like that. It never felt like that, all the other times.” 

“That’s good, right?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at him. 

He grins down at her, resisting the urge to kiss that lovely questioning look off her face. “Definitely good.”

She gives him an enchanting smile, her eyes glittering in the light of the golden lamps on either side of the bed. She looks straight ahead again, her head resting against his arm and sighing almost longingly. A comfortable quiet envelops them and he almost thinks that she’s drifting off to sleep when she suddenly turns her face towards his skin and inhales sharply. 

“Are you coming back?” she asks, her voice small. It is painfully obvious that she’s trying her best to keep her voice nonchalant and John turns to look at her in surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks back. 

“Well…you’ve got what you wanted,” she says. “I’ve slept with you.”

“I…” he trails off, frowning down at her even though he knows she isn’t looking at him. “Do you want me to come back?”

There is a slight pause, and John can tell that she’s hesitating between putting her wall back up and remaining open with him. 

“Return customers are always good for business,” she says, turning to smile coyly at him. “I must say, you’ve been lining my pockets quite generously this past week, Mr Smith.”

“I’m Mr Smith now, am I?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “You wound me, Madame Song. I was under the impression that we were on a first name basis.”

She laughs, and it is that throaty, sexy laugh she puts on for her customers - still, it makes his insides tingle. She leans forwards, lips almost brushing his neck, and whispers hoarsely, “I’ll call you whatever you want, sweetie.”

It takes all of his self control not to push her back down on the bed and show her just how much he likes to be called her  _ sweetie _ . 

“It’s almost time for me to leave,” he reminds her regretfully, and her head whirls round to the beautiful round clock above the bed. “Which reminds me - before I leave, would you like some help with Ramone?”

“I can handle myself,” she assures him, but he shakes his head. 

“I know you can - I don’t doubt that. I just - when you get tired of handling him,” he pauses and lifts his back off the headboard, reaching to the dresser on his side and rummaging in the drawers until he finds a pen and a book of what he can only assume to be the kingdom’s finest erotica. He flips the cover page and scrawls something on the inside, passing the book to her and watching as she frowns, reading the message. 

“A number?” she asks, looking back up at him with wide eyes. 

“Mine,” he tells her. “If you ever need an excuse to refuse Ramone’s visits -” he taps on the cover with the pen, a smile on his face. “I’m just a phone call away. I can do nights, but days are a little trickier - hard to sneak around with a mask in daylight without attracting attention.”

“Johnny,” she says, still staring at his untidy scrawl of numbers at the corner of the page. Her eyes finally leave the paper when she lifts her head to stare at him instead, confusion and bewilderment all over her beautiful features. “Is this your personal number?”

“Yes,” he confirms, and her mouth parts in surprise. “Only a handful of people know it, so please keep it safe. My security in your capable hands, River.”

He taps her on the nose and she scrunches her face adorably for a moment before letting out a breath. “Do you really trust me this much?” 

He can only look at her longingly. “I really,  _ really _ want to."

She stares at him for a moment, then back at the book. “Why would you want to?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer. Apparently this isn’t a good enough answer, because River raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’d trust me with your phone number but not with your identity?” she asks.

“Those are two very different things.”

“Virtually the same thing in this day and age. I could have this number traced and I’d know who you are.”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m hoping my wishes mean as much to you as yours do to me,” he cups her cheek and moves hair off her face, caressing her skin gently. “I’m choosing to trust you with this, River Song.” he presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, her lips parted slightly. They remain a breath apart when he pulls away, staring straight into her eyes. “Will you prove me wrong?”

*

He doesn’t really know what to expect when he’d given his number to River. It’s hard to tell if she’ll ignore his offer - maybe contemplate it for a few days before deciding she’s better off without his help. Maybe she intends to never use it - keep it as a token of the immense amount of trust he placed in her. 

He certainly didn’t prepare for her to call anytime soon; he didn’t expect to hear from her for at least two or three days. She hadn’t appeared as though she thought his offer was of any use to her at all.

So when he receives a call in his chambers from an unknown number that night shortly after dinner, his brow furrows in confusion as he looks down at the phone, hesitant to answer the call. The thought that River had maybe betrayed his trust so quickly - that she had not even the patience to wait twenty-four hours before leaking his phone number to the highest bidder - hurt too much for him to consider for longer than a few seconds.

Deciding to bite the bullet and deal with whatever comes afterwards, he lifts the phone from its handle and gives a tentative, “Hello?” to the other end of the line. 

The purr that greets him on the other end of the line both relieves and excites him. 

“Hello, sweetie,” River greets, and a sudden image of her lounging in her bedroom in nothing but her robe emerges from the murky parts of his brain, distracting him. “I wondered if you were telling me the truth about your number.”

He grins as he presses the phone closer to his ear, as though the physical action of being closer to her voice could shorten the distance between them. 

“I’m glad you decided to call instead of tracing it,” he says quietly to her, lest one of the maids overhear from outside. 

“I was tempted,” she admits. “But you promised you’d tell me who you are soon. And I like to think that you’re a man of your word, Mr Smith.”

“Soon, River,” he says, maintaining the quiet tone of voice he adopted. 

“And besides,” she adds, “I much enjoyed your company last night. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would... prove you wrong about me.”

“I really hoped you wouldn’t.” he says. 

There is a pause, where all he can hear is the sound of River breathing. He doesn’t know what to say - had she only called to verify that this was indeed his number? If that was the case, there’s nothing else that needs to be said between them. But if River had called with regards to  _ Ramone _ , on the other hand - 

“Ramone called,” she blurts, like she’d been debating over telling him for the longest time and had decided on telling him before she could stop herself. “Jenny took it - you met her, she was the really timid one that handled Ramone the first night you were here. I think he scared her - threatened to tell her family what she’s really doing when she’s supposed to be working night shifts at the bar. She panicked and - well...”

She trails off, and he frowns. 

“Are you asking me to come down there later?” he asks, just in case he’s getting the wrong message from her. 

“I - well, I suppose, yes,” she says finally. It’s not difficult for him to realise that she doesn’t really have experience asking for help. “I think - well, he’d love to make a scene here and - you certainly helped last night.”

“What time should I arrive?” he asks.

There is another small pause, and River says, “You’re really coming?”

“Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well - you’re - I know what you said last night, but -”

“I promised,” he says simply. “I gave you my word, River.”

There is a pause.

“Good,” she says lamely. “That’s good. I’m - is half past one okay?” 

“Of course,” he replies. “I’ll see you later, River.”

“See you,” she whispers. He hears a bit of hesitation in her tone of voice and before he can say anything about it, she adds a quiet, “Thank you, Johnny.” and puts down the phone.

*

He oversleeps. Of course he does. The one promise he made to River - the one thing she asked him to do - and he doesn’t even show up in time. All the measures he took - going to bed two hours earlier so he doesn’t feel tired when he’s supposed to be helping River, setting five working alarms in two minute intervals half an hour before he’s supposed to leave, getting the maid to leave a tumbler of hot coffee on his bedside for when he wakes - none of those things worked as effectively as waking up and discovering he’d overslept and was now almost an hour late to their meeting. 

He cursed and stumbled as he dressed, and he was almost out the second-storey window when he realised he forgot his mask. His escape is hasty and clumsy - he’s pretty sure a few maids down on the first floor spotted his shadow moving as he crept between the bushes but with any luck, they’ll chalk it up to a ghostly vision haunting the palace. 

All he can think of as he hurries through the dark, cobbled streets of his kingdom well past midnight is the look on River’s face. He’d given her his word - made sure that his word  _ meant _ something - and he doesn’t bother to show up. He hopes it that his stupid, foolish, completely avoidable mistake doesn’t undo everything he’s done in the past week. He hopes that when he arrives, River hasn’t put her guard up on him. 

His thoughts stray to Ramone and his stomach flips unpleasantly at the thought of what they’re most likely doing in the privacy of River’s chambers - likely what River had done with him just last night. He knows it comes with the territory - it is her job, and she’s damn good at it. But the thought that she’s doing it unwillingly, merely fulfilling a predetermined contract - the thought that Ramone was probably as aggressive in bed as he is out of it - it only makes him streak through the dimly lit streets. 

_ But maybe he isn’t, _ says an intrusive voice in his head as he takes a shortcut through a muddy field of grass.  _ Maybe she  _ wants  _ to sleep with him. River doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to - maybe she even  _ enjoys _ having sex with him.  _

He pushes the thought to the back of his head as he breaks into a run down one final street. The tiny, quiet, completely  _ un _ welcome voice in his head keeps foraging its way to the forefront of his thoughts, plaguing himself with insecurities and doubts that serve no other purpose than to destroy what little headway he’s made into pursuing a deeper relationship with River. 

But he cannot ignore them. He’s realised that by breaking his promise, he might as well have pushed River right into Ramone’s arms for good. 

He is panting heavily when he reaches the heavy wrought iron gates of the mansion. The stocky, bald man named Nardole is standing at the porch, apparently waiting for him. His lips are pursed and his stare is beady, and when John makes eye contact with him he can’t help but feel that he’s being thoroughly and carefully examined. 

“You’re late.” Nardole says, no hint of a smile on his face. 

“Is Ramone here?” John asks, clutching at a stitch in his side as he heaves on the steps of the vast place. “Am I too late? Has he got River?”

“Madame is inside. She’s been waiting for you,” Nardole points a stubby finger through the front double doors. 

John pushes past River and drops into the first plush seat he sees in the foyer, ignoring the gasps of Clara, who appears to be manning the front tonight. She looks surprised but says nothing when she sees him, instead picking up the phone and speaking quietly into it. John doesn’t attempt to eavesdrop - it’s difficult to hear anything else above the din of his heart drumming incessantly against his ribs and the blood rushing through his ears. 

Clara straightens as she puts down the phone and hurries into the kitchen, out of sight. John starts to follow her, but the sound of angry, hushed voices makes him slow down a little to listen. He recognises Missy’s falsely honeyed tones as though speaking to a toddler and instantly knows that Ramone is here - but River doesn’t seem to know it. 

Clara emerges from the kitchen, looking angry and concerned at the same time. She catches his eye and gestures hurriedly for him to climb the stairs, and John doesn’t wait for any other instruction - he goes two at a time, ignoring the stinging ache in his knees. 

He is painting even more harshly when he reaches the top landing, and swallows when he notices that River’s door is open wide. He has never seen it left open like that before, and he doesn’t know what to expect. Will River be angry to see him? Or will she be relieved?

He takes a few tentative steps towards the room and sees River sitting at the foot of the bed. She is in white this time, a lacy and sheer number that allows him to see the black lingerie she has underneath. It is different from the normal robes she usually wears - this white one isn’t short at all, but long and flowing, reaching the ground and pooling at her feet. She looks as gorgeous as ever, though he does notice a startling difference in what she’s wearing - she has on a pair of glasses. 

They frame her face delicately - he is reminded of a sexy teacher or librarian - and he decides that he quite likes her in glasses. Shame she’ll have to take it off, really. 

“River?” he asks gently, so as to not startle her. 

She looks up at him, then down at what she’s reading again. His own eyes shift to the paper she’s holding and frowns. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he continues quietly, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him. “I slept through my alarm clock - it was an accident, I got here as soon as I could. Practically ran the entire way here.”

She remains silent, staring at the piece of paper. He might as well have been talking to a wall. 

“I really am sorry, River,” he says, as apologetically as he can. “Are you angry with me?”

She ignores his question. Instead, she takes off her glasses and stares at him, her gaze piercing.

“Who are you?” she asks. 

There is no warmth in her tone. She is gazing at him as though she’s seeing him in an entirely different light - as though he’d betrayed her terribly and she didn’t know who he really was. 

“I - I thought - I can’t tell you, River.” he says again. “What’s wrong, what happened?” 

“Why do you need to know all of this?” she asks, indicating the paper she’s holding. “Are you reporting me?”

“What?” John asks, baffled by the question. “I - what do you -?”

She fixes her glasses back on her nose and looks down at the piece of paper. 

“ _ Who is River Song? What are her desires and goals? How long has the Cloak and Dagger been operating? _ ” she reads, and John feels a growing horror as she continues. “ _ How does she run her business? What is her relationship with Ramone (and other government officials)? Will she be suitable? _ ”

She puts down the piece of paper and looks at him again. “It goes down to thirty-three questions.”

His mouth is open in befuddlement as he stares at the list of questions he’d written just last night. He wanted to ask her all of them and find out more about her suitability as a Queen before pursuing her - but that was before they got so distracted. It must’ve fallen out of his coat as he picked it up from the ground this morning.

“I can explain,” he starts, but River’s eyes flash in anger and she stands, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” she demands. “Why do you want to help me? Are you some sort of spy? A reporter?”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head fervently. “I’m - I swear I’m not. I’m not trying to  _ hurt  _ you, River.”

“And why should I believe you?” she snarls, turning and shoving the single sheet of paper into his chest so hard that he gets the wind knocked out of him. She throws her glasses onto the ground in frustration and anger as she starts breathing heavily. “I can’t believe I  _ trusted _ -”

“No, wait - River,” John sputters, placing a hand on her shoulder but she shakes him off roughly and heads for her supply of liquor. He watches her warily, not wanting to anger her further. “I swear I’m not lying to you. I’m not trying to hurt you or - or harm you in any way. Really, it’s quite the opposite.”

“Don’t,” she settles herself in her chintz chair calmly, a glass of wine in her hand. She takes a large gulp and he realises with a tugging jolt in his heart that her eyes are red and she’s holding back tears. “Don’t. I - I thought…” she shakes her head as she trails off. “I’m just a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he says quietly. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Get out, John.” she says. 

“River,” he says pleadingly. “River, I  _ swear _ that I’m not who you think I am.”

“No, you aren’t,” she agrees, looking him in the eye. “I thought you were... so different. My fault. You made everything hazy and - and somehow I forgot. You’re still a man. Just a horrible, manipulative  _ man _ .”

It hurts more than he ever thought it could have, hearing those words from her mouth. That she thought she could trust him and now she doesn’t - it makes something in him break and he can’t help but feel the desperation start creeping in. 

“Please,” he pleads hoarsely. “What do I have to do? Tell you who I am? Is that what it will take for you to believe me?” 

“What difference would that make, knowing who you are?” she scoffs, taking another gulp of wine. 

“Because then you would know that I have absolutely nothing to gain from hurting you,” he says, stepping closer to her. “Then you would know who I am, and you’d know that I have everything to lose by just being here with you.” 

She doesn’t answer for a while. She merely looks at him. He almost lifts his hand to his mask when she opens her mouth to say something, but before she can even utter a word, the sound of loud footsteps on the landing catches their attention, followed by loud and angry voices. 

They look at each other in panic. 

“Did you see anything when you came up?” she asks, standing and hurrying to the door. 

He shakes his head and she throws the door open. They are face to face with Missy, Clara and Ramone. 

“I  _ knew _ it!” Ramone screams in vindication, pointing at John. He turns to Clara. “You said River wasn’t taking  _ any _ appointments tonight, you filthy liar!”

“You watch your mouth,” Missy snarls at him, stepping forward. 

But unlike all the other times he cowered at Missy’s stare, he seems thoroughly unbothered by it now. He whirls around and points an accusatory finger at John, as if this was all his fault.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

“I hardly think it’s any of your business.” John answers coldly. 

“ _ I _ booked her first!” he shouts, his face red and temples bulging. “ _ I _ wanted her tonight, and  _ you _ swooped in -”

“ _ She _ has a name,” John answers, colder than ever. “And River’s right here - I would think you can at least respect the woman you claim to fancy.”

“Don’t you bloody tell me who to respect!” Ramone shouts back, voice rising higher this time. “You come here with your stupid mask and steal  _ my  _ appointment with  _ my  _ woman, telling me to respect -”

“I am  _ not _ your woman,” River interrupts, her voice chillingly cold and quiet. “I am not property to be sold and traded. The sheer fucking  _ audacity _ ,” she breathes, closing in on Ramone and backing him up against the door. Clara and Missy scurry out of their way. “Of you to barge into  _ my _ private quarters and demand to see who  _ I’m _ spending time with, as though you have some sort of  _ monopoly  _ over my life. You  _ pay _ for me to fuck you, and if there isn’t any money exchanged then I don’t  _ owe  _ you  _ anything _ , least of all something as valuable as my fucking  _ time _ .”

“River, dear,” Ramone says, after a moment of surprise. 

“She doesn’t want you.” John interrupts him. He has no doubt that River is close to inflicting physical pain to Ramone and he doesn’t want her to have to stoop to that level. “Get that into your head and go. Go find someone who wants you back - it isn’t worth the trouble.”

He looks from River to John and back again. “And what,  _ he’s  _ worth the trouble?” he asks derisively. “You can’t even see that fucker’s face, River - what’s betting he’s hiding an ugly monstrosity under there?” 

“Better an ugly face than an ugly personality.” John says, scowling at him from under the mask. 

“Pity you have both.” Missy chimes in. 

Ramone turns his glare on her, but she merely smiles pleasantly at him. John is tempted to smile at her antics, but he can’t bring himself to show any positive emotions when Ramone is in the room. How utterly vile. 

John moves forward and grabs River’s hand, leading her away from the door and allowing Ramone room to move again. She gives him a look of surprise, but it is warm and affectionate - a stark contrast to how she looks at Ramone, and John finds himself feeling oddly relieved. Despite everything that had just transpired between them, she can still look at him that way.

Perhaps Ramone saw how River looked at John. Perhaps he recognised that he had finally lost, and there was no way River would ever be with him. Perhaps he was merely waiting for a chance to strike.

As John attempts to smile back down at River, a fist connects with the silicone mask. The force of the punch knocks him back and makes him lose his balance, falling to the ground. There is a commotion above him, the women screaming and stomping and kicking, and Ramone having to fight them off by himself - but he is overpowered quickly and subdued by River’s powerful right hook. 

There is an audible  _ crack _ as her fist hits his nose and he falls hard against the wall behind him, knocking him out as he slides to the floor. The ladies turn to the other figure on the floor, lying in a heap. 

“I’ll get the first aid,” Clara volunteers immediately, and John hears footsteps leading away from the room. 

He knows it’s coming. His mask is cracked in half and there is no way to hide his face without upsetting the bruise blooming on his cheek. There is only one thing for it. 

He looks up at River, his eyes meeting her own. Missy gasps but River merely stares, wide-eyed and frozen in shock at him. She seems unable to move. 

The silence between them seems to last a lifetime and a half. He doesn't have the faintest idea what to say or what to even make of her expression - had she expected someone else? There is nothing positive to glean from the expression on her face and he can feel his stomach drop. What will happen now? 

They are interrupted by the sound of a gasp and a clutter of things hitting the floor as Clara reappears at the doorway, dropping the first aid kit in her hands as she realises just who is lying in her Madame’s chambers. Missy is the first to recover, tapping her wife and indicating that she better get on with fixing John up. Clara swallows nervously and nods, approaching him as though expecting him to chastise her. 

He doesn't say anything as Clara starts fussing over him, and he hardly winces as the stinging in his cheeks triple when she applies some ointment to it. He gives her a crooked smile in thanks. 

“You’ll be fine,” she tells him, gently dabbing at his bruise. She packs the materials back in the kit and stands, looking unsure before bowing courteously. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Majesty.” 

She shuffles past her wife, who looks at Ramone lying on the floor and back at John. “I’ll get Nardole up here to clear that up.”

He is left alone with River, who is still standing at her liquor cabinet, staring at him hesitantly. 

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, feeling the oddly comforting urge to fidget but trying to fight it - he doesn’t want to make it even more awkward than it already is. “You haven’t said anything.”

“I…” she starts, but her voice comes out hoarse and she clears her throat, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know you have loads of questions,” he says. “But do you believe me now?” 

She opens and closes her mouth three times before laughing uncertainly. “I don’t know  _ what _ to believe.” she frowns. “Why are you even  _ here _ ?”

“I wanted to get to know you -”

“No, no - no. I mean, why did you come here at  _ first _ ?” she said, eyes narrowing as the gears turn in her head. “ You said you wanted to find someone. What’s her name?” 

Baffled by the specificity of her question, John flusters as he tries to recall her name. “It was - um - Melody. Melody Pond.” 

She stares at him for a moment, giving him the impression that he somehow gave her the wrong answer. Her expression is blank as she blinks at him. 

“Why? Do you know her?” John asks curiously, frowning at her. 

“You found me.” she breathes quietly in realisation, more to herself than to him. 

“Sorry?” he asks, not hearing her. 

She pushes herself off the liquor cabinet and walks over to her wardrobe, pulling the doors open and rummaging around. He frowns in confusion at her, watching her carefully and wondering what in the world she’s doing, because he isn’t following anything. 

She emerges a minute or two later, turning around to face him. His jaw drops when she sees that her ringlets are up in an elegant hairstyle - albeit a little messier than when he first saw it - and a golden mask that covers the top half of the face. 

He understands now. 

“It’s me,” she breathes softly as he stands and walks towards her. His mouth is open and he is staring at her, all around her, bathing himself in this miracle. Her lips turn upwards in a smile. “I’m Melody Pond.”


	7. thinking bout our shadows on the ceiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait. I - you’re - what?” he stammers, recovering after a few long moments of staring open-mouthed at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, lovelies! please accept this present as an offering of peace and love for the rest of this wonderful year as we leave behind 2020 and welcome 2021! 
> 
> (this chapter is unbeta'd because i literally finished it two minutes ago)
> 
> Chapter title from Nothing But My Feelings by Little Mix

“Wait. I - you’re - what?” he stammers, recovering after a few long moments of staring open-mouthed at her. 

She grins and it’s beautiful, removing the mask once more. She looks at him in wonder, like she can’t quite believe what’s happening, like she can’t believe he’s in front of her. He tries to take her in - River -  _ Melody _ , all this time. She was right in front of him all this time. 

Of course, this explained so many things. Like how he was instantly attracted to River - not merely on a physical level. Suddenly, knowing that River and Melody are one and the same could’ve been the only answer because  _ of course  _ the two brilliant women that held his attention was really just one. It was no mere coincidence that he had not experienced a deep, meaningful connection with anyone else in his entire life and yet in the last two to three weeks he made that connection with two women. 

“Sweetie,” she whispers, and her eyes are sparkling brilliantly with tears. “What are you doing here?” 

He finds his voice remarkably quickly. “Looking for you,” he says. He sighs and looks at her, hands trembling as he cups her cheeks and feels her skin. “Of course it was you. It was always you, wasn’t it?” 

“I didn’t even - I didn’t think you’d  _ really _ look for me,” she breathes, her expression still full of that wondrous amazement as she stares at him, her eyes moving over his face hungrily. 

“I keep my promises,” he says. “So... is it River or Melody?”

“Melody,” she says, and it feels like she’s introducing herself all over again. “River Song is... she’s an alter ego. For work, you know.”

He nods, though there’s a small smile playing on his lips and he leans in and whispers in her ear. “And will River be coming back from time to time?” 

Pulse racing, she takes a deep whiff of his scent and grasps the lapels of his jacket tightly. “Only if Mr Johnny Smith joins her.” 

He smiles against her cheek and presses a sweet kiss onto her skin. “That can be arranged.”

For a few long moments, they merely hold each other, revelling in the discovery they've made tonight. At long last - after weeks of searching, after initially giving up, after setting his sights on River instead - John finally has her. He can't help but let out a shaky breath as his eyes start to sting, finally feeling relief and contentment. 

Blinking them away hastily, he turns his face towards her to nuzzle her neck. But before he could, he realises that she is still staring at him. There is such reverence and amazement in her eyes still that he beams at the sight, his hand trailing to the back of her head and holding her head to his. 

"There is so much we still need to talk about," he breathes to her, and she nods in agreement. "But right now I'm just so happy I came here tonight."

"So am I, sweetie," she replies, leaning up a little to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He likes that it's a thing they can do now - kiss each other whenever they want. "God, what I would give to push you back onto the bed and have my way with you."

"What's stopping you?" he asks.

She turns away and looks at Ramone, still knocked out from the force of her punch. John grimaces at the reminder as she turns back to him, looking entirely too pleased with herself. He smiles fondly at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead affectionately.

"I like you defending my honour," he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow at him as a delighted smile spreads across her face. "Very sexy."

"I'll show you just how sexy I can be," she says, lowering her voice suggestively. 

He smiles even wider, pushing his face closer to hers. Their lips are about to meet when a throat clears loudly from the doorway, making them jump apart like guilty teenagers caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. 

Nardole stares back at them, looking oddly at John for a few long moments before turning to Melody and addressing her. 

“May I help you, ma’am?” he asks courteously. 

“Mr Ramone is in need of medical help. There was a…  _ misunderstanding _ .” she emphasises the word deliberately and shoots Nardole a pointed look. 

He nods as he approaches the limp figure on the ground and his arms around Ramone’s midriff. With surprising strength that John never would’ve guessed the little bald man possessed, he heaved the figure off the floor and onto his shoulder before bowing in respect to Melody and John, leaving them alone for the first time. 

Melody looks up at John, smiling almost shyly as he looks back at her. He delights in that expression - the amount of warmth blooming in his chest at the mere sight of her is enough to  make him lock the world out of this room forever. He marvels at her hair, the lovely curls framing her face and tumbling down her back; at her eyes, a wondrous mixture of blue and green that carries an all too familiar gleam he remembers from their kiss on the roof in the palace; at her lips, curving softly into a smile, soft and supple and tasting of applemint; at her cheeks, the crimson blush that she’s wearing as she realises that he’s examining her minutely. 

“What?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. 

He merely smiles. “Nothing,” he says, curving his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. “You are beautiful.” 

She looks down at that, her cheeks turning even redder. He’s never seen her quite so shy and quiet before - he loves her like this. 

“We should probably talk before we do anything else.” she suggests softly, reaching for his arms around her waist and removing them. Instead, she takes his hands and leads him down onto the bed, sitting down and indicating that he should too. She looks at him and mirrors his previous marvel at her. “You’re Prince John Williams.”

It’s the first time she says the words out loud in the air - it still seems so much like a dream, a faraway fantasies that could only happen in the most imaginative fairytales - and yet, here he is, sitting in bed with her. She blinks once and lets out a small, shuddering breath. 

“Melody,” he whispers, squeezing her hand tighter. “I want you. I told you, didn’t I, on that roof when we snuck out from the party? I told you that you’re the one I choose and - and here you are, almost two months later and I’m here still.”

His eyes are wide, pleading with her. “Please say yes this time.” 

She blinks, her eyes filling with tears rapidly. “I - I love my job, John. I don’t want to hide who I was - I don’t want to cut ties with my family here. Missy, Clara, Nardole - they trust me to be there for them, and I won’t betray them, darling. Not even for you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he shakes his head insistently, she looks doubtfully at him. “No, I - you know the coronation is in six months, right?”

She nods. “It was in the papers when the palace announced the ball.”

“Right. Well - I’ve been tagging along with my father, filling in for his duties in parliament and stuff like that - mainly so that I’ll know what to do when I become king. I was serious that first night I came here, you know?” he says, reminding her of the very first night she saw the wildly  captivating man in the mask. “I’m surrounded by women in the Palace. I was always going to make gender issues the focus of my first speech in parliament - why not tie in sex workers too?”

“Your parents are okay with that?” she asks, even more doubtful. 

He doesn’t answer immediately. “Well, it’s difficult,” he admits. “But I’m working on it. I think if I can just - just get them to  _ listen  _ to me for once, I’ll get them on my side. And once they meet you,” he laughs fondly and tucks a curl behind her ear. “They’ll love you all the same, Melody.” 

“But… there might have to be some sacrifices,” he says slowly, and her face looks graver than ever. “I - Melody, I know you love your job, but - this isn’t a result of your profession, but rather my… jealousy. I hope that if you say yes, you’ll find it in you to leave this life and be with me fully.” he says, his voice turning even softer as his hands cup her cheeks tenderly and he presses a lingering kiss to her lips. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of you with anyone else but me.”

“If any other man has asked me to do that, I would’ve refused in a heartbeat,” she whispers back, looking straight into his eyes and losing herself in the lovely hazel shade. “But for you, sweetie, I would never do otherwise.” 

He closes his eyes in relief and tugs at her, hugging her tightly. 

“I do have one condition,” she says hesitantly.

“Anything, dear.” he says, and loves the way her eyes light up at the endearment.

“I want to continue running the business. I won’t be one of the girls, but I’ll be in charge of them overall.” she tells him seriously. “Part of why the girls are here are either because they were orphans, or they were swindled from their money and have turned to sex work. They feel safe because they are guaranteed safe work under my care, and if that changes…"

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to do this and be the Queen,” John says, and she pauses. 

“The Queen... “ her voice trails off dreamily. “I never thought of it like that before. The things I’d be able to do for my girls…”

“Thinking about the future already? How sure are you?” he asks, as a faint blush reappears on Melody’s cheeks. He laughs and taps her nose. “Don’t worry, I like it.”

“I’ll have to talk to Missy and Clara, tell them what’s going on,” she says, leaning by his side. He strokes her arm and presses a kiss to her curls, unable to resist himself. “I’ve been best friends with Missy for over a decade, we’ve been together ever since we met. It’ll be like leaving a sister behind.”

“You’ll see her still, don’t worry,” he assures her. “It’s not like you’re going somewhere far away. You’ll just be moving into a bigger, nicer, more luxurious house.”

She hides her smile in his chest, pinching his arm lightly for ribbing her. Suddenly, she sighs. “It won’t be the same though. This is the first time in ten years I’ve seriously considered leaving. Even when Missy got married, she never even thought about leaving me to run the business and live happily with Clara somewhere.”

“Missy and Clara love you,” he says softly. “They’ll want you to do what  _ you _ want to do. They’ll see that you’re disgustingly happy with your new life and they’ll understand.”

She looks up at him. “I guess you’ll have to make me disgustingly happy, then.”

“Already working on it.” he whispers back, leaning down to kiss her fully in the mouth. 

It is their first long, drawn out kiss since they found out their real identities and she responds with a moan, kissing him back thoroughly. He sucks her tongue into his mouth and his hands move up and down her body, feeling her through the thin material of her robe. Her hand creeps under his shirt and scratches her nails lightly down his front, making him even more eager to taste more of her. 

When they part they are both breathless, and she has climbed on top of him. He looks up at her like she is the sun and he is a planet in her orbit - the expression makes her bite her lip and bend down to press a chaste kiss on his. 

“When you left that night, I promised myself that the next time you came, I wouldn’t hold back,” she whispers to him, bending her head and suckling at his neck. “I would give everything to you.”

With feline grace, she sits back and slithers off his body, and settles herself comfortably on her knees on the floor. His voice is stuck in his throat; he can’t seem to summon enough sense to make any response to the woman of his dreams, down on her knees in front of him. Her fingers trail up his knees and finally reach his crotch, stroking slowly but with determined intent. 

“Melody,” he groans, closing his eyes in pleasure as the warm pressure of her hands move up and down the crotch of his pants. “That feels -  _ God _ .” 

She smiles provocatively at him as her hands slide to the zipper of his trousers, undoing them slowly as he watches her. She loves that she has his undivided attention, that he watches her undress him with equally dark eyes alight with desire. One of his hands leaves the bedsheets and pushes her curls back, his fingers dipping low to catch her chin and tilt her face upwards so it catches the light.

“I want to see you,” he whispers. Her smile widens. “I want to watch you, Melody.”

She says nothing. She maintains the eye contact between them as her hands stroke his lap, feeling the slight tent in his trousers. His breathing is becoming even heavier as he works harder to suppress the urge to moan out loud, and she can tell that it is becoming increasingly difficult for him to watch her. 

She takes hold of his trousers and pulls them down his legs, making his hips lift slightly. He is left in his boxers and she laughs in delight as she eyes his crotch, finally peeling the cotton material off of him and exposing his member to the air. 

Finally seeing him for the first time, she takes the opportunity to simply stare at it. He is, simply put, positively majestic. Long, thick and veiny, Melody feels herself start to salivate the longer she stares at it. She looks up to see him watching her carefully, gauging her reaction with mild apprehension; as if afraid that she’ll find him repulsive or not good enough. Once she sees that expression cross his face, she lets her mouth fall open and leans forward. 

The tip of his cock falls against her tongue and she hears him gasp softly. His hand moves to her hair once again and he grasps her curls, not too tightly. She sucks the tip of him eagerly, swiping her tongue around the head. She feels his thigh muscles tense under her and knows that’s a good sign, so she continues for a few moments before going in deeper. 

Her hands hold his shaft steady, stroking his balls gently and he makes a choking noise at the back of his throat, unable to make a coherent sound. She smiles around him and he feels the movement of her lips stretching around his cock - she is the sexiest woman he’s ever seen. 

“Melody,” he groans, his hand tightening just slightly in her hair - he is conscious of his grip, not wanting to hurt or discomfort her in any way. “That is perfect, sweetheart.”

She licks the underside of his shaft and he groans loudly, struggling to look down at her. The urge to close his eyes and tilt his head back in pleasure is almost too unbearable to ignore, but he can’t look away from the sight of his cock disappearing into Melody’s mouth. He knows that from now on, the sight of Melody’s mouth full of his cock will be the sight that he thinks about, late at night in the privacy of his bedroom.

She sucks hard, making him moan again before pulling her head back and releasing his cock from her mouth. She kisses his shaft instead, licking at him like a perfect ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day, and she smiles in delight as her tongue moves against him, finding all the sensitive parts of him that make his hips jerk off the bed. 

She delights in her discovery of him - she hums when his hands tighten in her hair as she starts bobbing her head up and down his shaft, and she moans when he cries out as she sucks his balls into her mouth - but nothing quite delights her as the little tortured sound he makes when she flicks her tongue on his tip, licking the pre-cum away. 

Soon, he is thrusting up towards her mouth, tugging painfully at her curls. His entire body is burning with pleasure, desperate to finish into her mouth. Later, he’ll reflect on this moment and blush at the realisation that he’s never been so completely uninhibited as he is now - he’s never really craved sexual satisfaction from anyone until he met Melody. She just naturally brings that side of him out to the surface.

Her mouth is full of him and she can hardly contain her moans as she desperately sucks him off. She can already feel the throbbing between her legs grow stronger with each second and she needs some type of friction against her cunt soon - preferably John’s cock. 

John’s thighs start trembling slightly as she continues sucking and with one last heaving jerk, he cums into her mouth. The white liquid spurts from his cock and his flavour bursts on her tongue, and she smiles in satisfaction as she releases him from her mouth and licks her lips cheekily. 

“Christ,” he swears, staring down at her. There is an air of disbelief as he surges forwards and kisses her passionately, his hands roaming down to her arse and lifting her on his lap. Her arms wind themselves around his neck and she holds tight as they pull apart. “Fuck, you are  _ perfect _ , Melody.”

She smiles and grasps her robe in response, flinging it out of the way and revealing the black set underneath. His eyes devour her hungrily. 

“Fuck me, my Prince,” she whispers breathily to him, making his throat dry as he stares at her body. “Fuck me hard.”

But he shakes his head, gripping her hips tightly and looking up at her. He seeks her lips out in a slow, wet and sensual kiss, kissing her hungrily, as though he could only be fed what she was offering him. She responds with equal fervour, moving her lips against his as her hands clutched at his shoulders. 

“No,” he breathed into the air between them as they parted for breath. “No. You will be in control now, Melody.” 

There is something in the way he says it - in his eyes as he tells her that he wishes her to take the lead. She can tell the importance of this moment, of his request; that he should ask her to be in charge like this when he’s spent the better part of the last two months dictating how their meetings go, what they talk about and even when they meet; that he should ask this of her after he’d blindfolded her and made love to her in their last meeting - it speaks of the trust he has in her, and she does not intend to abuse it. 

Her fingers find the buttons of his shirt and she looks up at him, looking for confirmation in his eyes. When she sees his assent, she starts to move her fingers, unbuttoning the garment slowly and stroking every bit of exposed skin like she’s uncovering the rarest jewel in the cosmos. She bends her head down, kisses his chest softly. 

She feels him shiver beneath her lips and hears trembling breath escaping his, as though feeling nervous and afraid. She straightens up again, staring down at him in concern and kissing him chastely. 

“Why are you shivering, John?” she asks, her hands abandoning his shirt in case he is uncomfortable. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he answers immediately, almost choking on the word. “No, please. Melody, I - please, please continue.”

She nods, relieved by his eagerness to continue. She removes the shirt from his back and tosses it over her shoulder, smiling as he is finally bare in front of her eyes. All that time she spent wondering how he would look between her legs, how his eyes had roamed her body last time, how his eyes would react as he slid within her; she’s about to have all those questions answered in the best way - she’s about to experience it herself. 

She reaches behind her and flicks her bra open easily, letting it fall from her chest as she slides the straps from her arms. He is watching her with dark, dark eyes that she can barely recognise. It makes her feel even sexier, the fact that she’s able to invoke this kind of reaction from the Prince when she knows first-hand just how many women have been throwing themselves at him. 

His eyes fix upon her breasts and she allows him a few seconds of plain staring before she gently nudges his head forward. His mouth opens almost unconsciously as his head falls on her chest, and he begins sucking on her chest in the most eager fashion. 

“ _ Yes _ , darling,” she moans out in delight, her head tilting back as she feels his teeth scrape over her nipple. Her nails scratch his scalp slightly as she tightens her grip on his head. “Oh  _ God _ , just like that…”

He holds her body to him as he continues suckling on her nipple, biting it and soothing it with his tongue again. She begins rolling her hips against his cock and he whimpers, the vibration rocking through her and making her draw breath sharply. 

He switches to her other breast and begins to give the same attention he’d given the other, and she rocks even harder against him, pressing her hips insistently into his crotch. She starts to quicken her pace as he lets go of her breast and latches onto her neck instead, inhaling the scent of her flowery perfume and letting the heady scent fill his head. 

“Melody, please,” he pleads to her, his lips brushing her jaw. “Please, I want you, so much.” 

She nods breathlessly, equally eager. She briefly moves off him to grab a condom from her drawer and she takes off her knickers before she rolls the rubber onto him, kissing him languidly. She climbs back onto his lap, holding herself above him and breathing heavily as she looks down at him.

Melody drops herself down onto him with a soft sigh, closing her eyes and letting her forehead rest on his. She simply does not move for a few moments, letting their heavy breaths fill her ears before she opens her eyes and sees his face, flushed with pleasure. 

His hands are clutching at her hips, desperate for her to move but knowing that he’d given her all of the control. He simply waits, his cock deep inside her, as she evens her breathing. She looks at him with relish and contentment, wetting her lips with a slow flick of her tongue before pushing her mouth into his in an open-mouthed kiss. 

As he responds enthusiastically, she starts moving her hips. Slow, steady movements as they gasp into each other’s mouths. His hands grasp her waist while hers cup his cheeks, leaning down and rubbing their noses together as she starts moving harder.

Her hips circle over his in long, deliberate movements that leave him breathless instantly. She knows exactly how to work him over despite being blindfolded the first and last time they did this together - and he is quite surprised at how turned on he is at the fact that she’s so much more experienced than he is. 

She starts moving faster and harder, and she starts moaning at every downward thrust. Her vision starts blurring as her hips move in frantic movements against his, and he cries out each time she moves down on his cock. It is quite unlike any pleasure he’s ever known - sex with Melody, with all of her and all of him, with both of them equally bare to each other - it’s almost like a drug, and he can foresee his addiction to her in a matter of weeks. 

She pushes down on his chest until his back hits the bed, riding him hard. Her back is arched and each strike of his cock against her clit makes her head tilt up towards the ceiling, her mouth open as a high pitched mewl escapes her lips. 

The position leaves him enough mobility to thrust upwards towards her, and soon they are at the edge of ecstasy, her fingers digging into his chest as his hands make their home on her hips. She gives one last downward thrust and cries out, much louder than she’s been all night. She collapses onto his chest as he stills his hips, still hard and unfulfilled inside her. 

She catches her breath on top of him and lifts herself up to meet his eyes, stroking hair out of his face tenderly. She whispers a sweet  _ thank you _ into his mouth as she kisses him, and her hips begin moving again, stronger and more deliberately. She slams herself down onto him repeatedly, clutching his hands and watching as he shuts his eyes against the intense pleasure of him enveloped in her lovely cunt. 

After a handful of thrusts, he finally cums with a howl of pleasure, reaching for her desperately and pulling her down onto him for a wild kiss. 

“You are,” he whispers, looking up at her with such revelry and fondness. “You’re lovely and amazing and utterly beautiful, Melody Pond.”

She smirks against his mouth. “Is that the post-coital haze talking?”

He feigns a thoughtful look. “Yeah. On second thought, you’re only amazing and utterly beautiful. Not lovely at all.”

She giggles and shakes her head, sliding off him carefully. Righting themselves respectively, they collapse back on the bed and into each other’s embrace, feeling as though they’ve spent all their lives together already. 

“We still have so much to talk about,” she says softly. “Not just of our families, but the public. The truth will come out somehow and people won’t take kindly to their Queen being a prostitute.” 

“You worry.” he observes, running his hand up and down her arm. 

“And you don’t?” she asks doubtfully, turning her head to look at him. “Look at what Ramone said. There are so many others like him, John.”

“I know,” he says, sighing. He takes her hands in his and kisses the back of her palms sweetly. “I know, Melody but... let’s just enjoy this for now, okay? The peace and quiet - being with you here, in bed - it’s perfect. Let’s handle all this later.”

She smiles, loving and tender. 

“Alright, sweetie. Later.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the chap! im hopeful (but can't promise) that the next one won't take quite as long to write but you never know what crazy idea i'll have inspiration for next (especially since i watched bridgerton a few days ago).
> 
> Please don't forget to leave a comment! I would personally love to start 2021 with lots of validation if you're willing to give it. 
> 
> Happy new year, loves!


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